Lifelong Ties
by DANCEwithME.dammit
Summary: They only liked me because I was good entertainment, my first kill was done with a broken bottle in selfdefence and I ended up drunk that night because of Jack Sparrow. After all that, I still ended up on the Black Pearl, working for my best friend.JackOC
1. First Sights

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with _Pirates of the Caribbean_. I own my OCs and only them. I'd really like to say that these authors are awesome: **RumQueen ScarletRosePetal **and** Chigaga**! Yeah, you guys are an inspiration…_ my_ inspirtion! Lol… to the story--- **

Lifelong Ties

**First Sights**

The first memory I have of "Captain" Jack Sparrow, was when I was nine. The wooden brown ship's white sails touched the horizon and in no time at all, the _Wicked Wench_ was docking at Tortuga, sails billowing with the wind, same as it always had.

My father was unloading cargo; I was watching him work while the sun glinted off his glittering, bronzed skin. I'm not sure how long I'd been out there, watching, but with no known mother, and living where I did, what was I supposed to do? Grow up all ladylike akin to the stuck up, pig-faced nobles at Port Royal? I think not!

Anyway, sitting there, I saw the black haired boy leap off the boat soon as it stoped. Actually, I could have sworn he jumped _before_ the boat stopped, and narrowly missed plunging into the radiant blue water of the Caribbean. The captain stood at the rail, all the while watching the boy with a small smile playing on his lips. Suddenly he turned, talking to his first mate. Then he bellowed some orders and disappeared below deck. Turning my attention from the _Wench's_ captain, I searched for the boy.

I found him outside a local tavern, his face pressed flat against the glass as he watched the barmaids clean up for the night crowd.

"Yer not gett'n in there jus' by look'n!" I said, grabbing his shoulder and turning him to face me.

Aside from his predictably ruddy skin complexion, I was perplexed as I looked into near black eyes, not stone cold, like I had assumed, but lit with the warmth and loving brown. _So innocent_, I thought, looking at him curiously. Pondering his age, I didn't realise he was looking at me with certain expectancy. Expectancy that was an inch from foot tapping, or such like.

"Ri'gh," I muttered gruffly. "Wha's ye name?" Regardless of the fact that he was older than me by, say, two years or so, I had been here since birth and haven't left it much. I was the superior.

"Jack," he replied, "Jack Sparrow." A few moments passed before Jack jerked his head in the direction of his shoulder and said, "Luv, the arm." I removed my hand abruptly.

"Sorry," I mumbled, looking down at my torn, frayed, patched and dirty dress. I hate the stuff they sell at this tiny port. They think any girl's a whore. My face lit up, "Would ye be meanin' ye father's Captain Grant Sparrow, then?"

"Aye! That he is." Jack pause for a moment, thinking, "I dunno why 'tis, but they all call 'im Teague, nowadays," he said, brows knitted together.

"Mmmm…" I nodded, glancing down his attire; simple navy blue breeches, once white shirt with a navy blue vest over it, countless belts and brown boots. No pistol, no knife and certainly no cutlass. _What's his father been doing?_ My head screamed.

"Ye know any sword work?" I asked, but I already knew the answer.

"Nah, not really. Watched some of me dad's crew though," he replied. I don't think he looked too proud of it, either.

"Oh. Ye'd best be comin' with me," and I grabbed him by the arm, dragging him through the streets and alleyways, a certain destination locked in my head.

We drew up at the blacksmith's within record time. Jack was panting slightly, his forehead shining with sweat.

"OI! Bronzer!" Open up, 's me," I yelled, banging on the door with brute force. Probably too much but he'll get over it. I've always been like that, and the door's still good.

The wood parted and big bald black man stuck his head through the gap.

"Oh. 'S ye, ye li'l brat!" He smiled and opened the door while I pulled Jack through it. "'Ho's he?"

"Jack," I replied to Bronzer, although I looked at Jack, "this is Bronzer."

"So I've heard," he drawled.

"Bronzer," I continued, unfazed, "this's Jack Sparrow… Cap'n Teague's boy."

Bronzer had been handling something metal, and hot, from the forge in clamps, which he dropped at my statement about Jack's genetics. "O-oh," he said gruffly, letting it drag out, "'s that so?" He bent to pick up the fallen length of metal and realised that the potential sword now resided in a second pair of clamps that Jack held. The boy had a look of wonder on his face.

"Ye'd best be given' that back, boy," Bronzer suggested, before pointing out, "Mind 's hot, now," as Jack briskly shoved the clamps into the smith's grip.

For the duration of this exchange, Jack's eyes never left mine. Their dark depths were considerate and measuring. I was just about to ask him if he'd awfully mind staring at something far more interesting, as the penetrating gaze was quite unnerving, when he opened his mouth.

"Luv," he said quietly, "ye've yet to tell me your own name?" His eyebrows rose so high they nearly disappeared under the faded red bandana that he used to tie his hair back with.

"Sorry," I said yet again, "'m Katriana Harping. Most call me Rian, though."

"Aye. Then, Rian, what are we doing here? And why am I following you, of all people?"

Bronzer answered the question for me, "Jack, son. Ye're wond'rin' 'round Tortuga, of all places, with naught but yer fists to defend yerself. 'N ye on'y settle for hand-to-hand as a last resort. I 'spose Rian wan'ed t' give ye a few sword lessons afore ye got yerself killed. Plus, I'd guess she near dragged ye here, of I know 'er well enough."

Jack nodded his head, seemingly finding this a good reason, or twenty. I settled on a bottle of rum to reward Bronzer tomorrow and mentally made a note to pay him a visit with the reward.

We passed the rest of the day with Bronzer as he made Jack's new sword, and I taught him a few blocks and blows. By the time we emerged from the smith's, the sun had left the horizon, leaving in its place a fiery shadow.

The smith told us kindly, "Mind that th' place is getting on t' th' danger time."

"Cheers," I said, turning to Jack, "Ye know th' way to th' _Wench_?"

"I'd think I'd know the way back to me own ship," he retorted, somewhat aggressively.

"Now, now, ye shut it 'n I'll take ye there. Ye don', 'n ye'll have t' find it yerself," I replied, the epitome of calm.

He said nothing and I assumed I'd lead him to the ship, so I took his hand in mine, and pulled him down the street. After all, I still had to check on Father. Sometimes I think I'm the mother of the world, seeing as no-one else tries to help around here.

The _Wench_ was bobbing up and down with the swell of the ocean, lanterns of light dotting it at intervals. A few of the crew were still there, keeping watch.

"Until tomorrow, then," Jack said, half skipping half running up the gang plank, his new sword bouncing with the movement.

"Aye! Tha' I will!"

* * *

We spent the next three or so days, not that I was counting, sparring off with each other. I taught him cheats, blows and kicks that he could use in case of need. He had successfully executed a turning kick with a back slash when Jack realised we had an audience. Glancing to the right, a direction in which Jack's eyes were transfixed on, and saw his father standing there, a considering look in his eyes.

I slid my cutlass around Jack's own in a lock I'd taught him yesterday, and flicked my wrist. The movement effectively disarmed him at the same time as reminding him that we were still duelling. He looked at me, shock transforming into an evil sneer as he realised I was standing there with my sword arm at a ninety degrees angle to my body, leaving my side unguarded. I knew what was coming as soon as the sneer appeared on his ruddy face. Unfortunately, that was too late and before I could do anything, he spun around and kicked me there, causing my hand to drop the sword. He caught the fallen blade and swung it in a cut that stopped just short of my neck, sitting on my left shoulder. Quick learner.

Jack's father clapped his hands briefly and came to stand next to his son. "I'm to understand that you taught him what he knows?"

He surprised me with his ability to pronounce properly.

"Aye, Cap'n!" I exclaimed. "He jumped off the ship with naught but 'is fists!" I looked at Jack and back to his father, "Sorry, if ye wan'ed t' teach 'im yerself, but ye'd be leavin' it a bit late, if that be the case."

"Hmm…" he turned to Jack, "We're setting sail as the sun rises, you'd best be getting some sleep, now, son." Jack ran to do as he was bid, but not before trading swords with his on the ground. "As, for you, lass, I would've liked to teach Jack myself but, as you so curtly put it, I _did_ leave it a bit late. Thank you. I hope to see you next time we visit."

He was turning to leave when he looked back at me, "Lass, what's your name?"

"Katriana Harping, Cap'n," I stood there, my hands clasped tightly behind my back to hide their shaking.

Captain Sparrow stood there a moment, thinking, contemplating, before he flipped me a gold coin. I dove forward, but when I looked up, the coin tight in my clutch, he was gone. I walked back to the _Faithful Bride_, a tavern my father favoured, thinking, _Neat trick. Wonder if he'd teach me, some day_…

* * *

**Hey people! Finally finished my first chapter. Please, reviews are so great, but no flames. Yeah, 'scuse the lack of knowledge of swordplay and blacksmithery. I'm working on the next chapter, then I'll go back and fix it. Lol! Yes, reviews are nice, thank you!!!**


	2. Friends and Enemies

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything to do with _Pirates of the Caribbean_. I own my OCs and only them. **RumQueen**, you rock!**

**Yeah, I know the first chapter didn't really, as someone I know said, "****flesh out****" Rian but believe me, if this next chapter doesn't satisfy you, the third one will.**

**Friends and Enemies **

I saw more of Jack Sparrow. I saw _a lot_ more of Jack Sparrow, but at the same time, you probably couldn't call it a lot, because I only saw him once or twice a year and not consistently at that. I don't remember all those times, and at the same time, I do. Though, there are some memories that stick. Those are the memories like after his father died.

The day he walked into the _Bride_, I remember vividly. I was seventeen and he was nineteen. The door opened and there he was. His face was stained lines from furious tears, his usually ruddy complexion was stark white under the tan, and the kohl he wore around his eyes was smudged to grey, rimming his eyes with an inch and a half in diameter. Jack saw me at the bar, fixing drinks, and lurched over.

Before he could say anything, I interrupted, "One rum! Jack, see me after the next two rounds. Ye can tell me why ye're a wreck, then." He opened his mouth to say something, crossed his eyes in thought and then shut his mouth again, thinking better of it.

He scanned the room and spotted Gibbs at a table over in a shadow-draped, secluded corner. It was their usual spot. As he made his way over there, Scarlet, a whore, got up and draped herself over him, talking in his ear. Jack had no reaction, walking to his destination devoid of any emotion, stiff and distant. He sat and Scarlet perched precariously on his lap, still talking in his ear.

I spent the next two hours serving drinks with deft ability, having developed the simple skill at an early age so I paid little attention, always looking over at Jack, who drank his rum in sips instead of his usual skull-a-mug-in-one. Gibbs and he talked quietly and Jack turned down the numerous women who got up and sashayed over to him. Something he hadn't done for six or so years. My shift finally finished and I grabbed two mugs of rum and walked warily over to the table.

"So," I said, slamming the mugs on the table with mock force. The liquid sloshed around a bit, some even spraying out. "What's happened?"

Jack didn't say anything. He glanced in my direction before returning to stare intently at his still full mug of rum as though it was about to impart on the secrets of the universe, swirling it around with a finger.

I looked at Gibbs.

"Ye might be wantin' t' ask Jack outside, lass. 'S a bit… personal, I think," he explained, motioning at the slumped man next to me.

I nodded and grabbed Jack's arm saying, "'S 'k." We made for the door, which was not an easygoing task as whore after whore went for Jack, who was obviously _not_ interested, and I was groped something like fourteen times. The groping came to an abrupt end as the groper was drenched in his mug of rum, poured by yours truly. Bursting into fresh-_er_ air, we headed up the main street and down an excluded alleyway which was thankfully empty.

"Jack," I said slowly and soothingly, sitting him on a small barrel before grabbing one for myself, "Jack, what is it?" When all he did was groan, I slid my hands on to his shoulders and held firmly. "Now, I'll 'ave none of tha', Jack Sparrow. What is yer problem?" There was still no answer so I stuck two fingers under his drooping chin and lifted his head, staring directly into his eyes – a gaze I didn't undertake unless there was the utmost reason. What I saw was much worse than I expected: I saw grief, and misery, and death. I saw his father, and I saw his pain.

A single tear slid, unwanted, down Jack's cheek and, biting my lip, I pulled Jack into my arms, stroking his hair and muttering things that I hoped were soothing. Jack pulled out of the hug first.

"There was nothing I could do. He jus'… slipped." He was saying, looking away from me. He didn't have to tell me what happened; I knew. But he went on anyway. "'Twas rainin', but 'e saw the ship coming, said 'e was still thirsty. 'E slipped, went unconscious, 'e did, 'n they killed him. I saw, n' I knocked th' bastards overboard!"

Jack's voice trailed off, his grief turned to anger, and I contemplated the thought of running. My conscience won out with the thought of leaving an angered Sparrow to a street of drunks and whores.

"Jack." I found myself repeating his name numerous times. "Jack, they're dead. They canna kill no more."

"'S alrigh', luv." He stood up, me with him, and draped an arm around my shoulders, "'s alrigh'."

In the _Faithful Bride_ once more Jack got drunk to the point of no return, and left with Scarlet – a feat I will remember for the rest of my Godforsaken life.

* * *

A while later, I returned home to find my door hanging off its hinges. _That's odd,_ I thought, although I was too drunk to realise it could possibly be dangerous. Walking into the first room, I noticed the windows were open, a light breeze ruffling the pale cloth curtains. 

When I got to my bedroom and found my father laying spread eagle on the bed and dripping with blood. _Little more than odd, if you ask me._ I got down beside him, looking at his chest, which wasn't moving. The realisation that my father was dead, sobered me up right quick. It was fruitless, feeling for his pulse first at the wrist, then at the neck, but I did so anyway.

I knew before I turned, that I was not alone, and I knew my company wasn't the pleasurable type. It was a good thing too, knowing, because the sudden becoming of a "hand" on my shoulder would have been a lot more petrifying if it was inhuman _and_ a surprise. As the person turned me around, I pulled out my knife, glancing over to the sheathed cutlass on the other side of the bed.

_Bugger. _

There were two of them. Beings that I assumed were once men, now made from barnacles, insects and some sea creatures. The one who wasn't holding me charged, yelling nonsense and hoisting an axe in an uncontrolled swing. I blocked it with my knife, feeling the pressure of the shaft and realising it was probably weighted with lead. As I ducked, the other leg go of my shoulder, only to reach for his weapon and plunge it into my arm. I screamed as I blocked, and lunged across the room to grab my cutlass. _There, two weapons, two people; one for each, _I thought as I defiantly blocked each blow and dealt a few of my own. _Now, how to kill those that I assume, are decidedly NOT mortal?_

Since the fight was turning fair, and my opponents weren't exactly _trained_ with their weapons, I left them to the fighting and trusted my muscles to react accordingly. _See?_ I said inside my head, _all the pattern dance practice has paid off. You may _actually_ live._ Another part of me told that part to shut it and look for a weakness or an escape. Something.

The room was bare save for the furnishings and what little belongings I had. The bed stood in the middle, a small table on the side, a few treasured trinkets in its draw. A dresser was on the adjacent wall, my personal care items arranged accordingly and on the wall opposite to the window, there was a chest of drawers. Two lights burned in the room, one above the bed and the other next to the door. _Mmm… Perhaps fire would do the trick? _

Throughout the rest of the battle, I grabbed the most important of my belongings, a sack, and a small amount of rations. I went to the bed, the monsters following behind me with their weapons raised at the ready. They looked at me strangely as I raised my sword to the lantern above my bed, hooked the ring on the tip, and sent the flame onto the bed. I didn't wait to see their reaction, I simply ran. I ran to the door and used to the same trick to get the lantern down and set further fire on my room.

Outside my bedroom, I stopped to rest and leant against the door, mentally assaulting myself: _WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!! YOU JUST SET FIRE TO YOUR HOME!! IT'S GOING TO BURN TO THE GROUND!! YOUR OWN HOME… _I dashed out the house and ran down the street, hardly believing that I'd been drunk beyond help an hour ago.

I ran down one street, up and alleyway, and back down a new street. More and more streets passed, turning corner after corner, until I saw the light of the docks ahead. There, in the distance, at the far end of the port, I saw the lights of the _Wicked Wench_ and raced towards it. I didn't stop until I was on the deck, bobbing with the boat. Then, and only then, did I breathe a sigh of relief, letting out a breath I hadn't known I was holding.

Gibbs came up the stairs and stared at me. It must have been at least three in the morning. "Hang on," he said, "I'll get the captain," turning and making to head for the aforementioned cabin.

"No," I gasped. I inhaled for a moment, letting the salt and rum scented air fill my nostrils and calm me. "No," I continued, "tha' wont be necessary, Mister Gibbs."

"Then at least let me take yer… sack?" he replied, smiling and reaching out a hand.

"Oh, sure thin'," I gave him the bag.

"Where to?" he asked me simply.

By that time, some of the crew, meaning Anamaria, were on deck looking roused and slightly angry. I looked at her, smiling weakly.

"Alrigh'," she laughed warily. "Bu' on'y ternigh'."

* * *

A knock on the cabin door woke me but a few hours after I had fallen asleep. Unfortunately my brain and body and everything else felt it necessary to remind that I'd gotten myself completely beaten to a pulp last night, not to mention the dozen or so mugs of rum. Therefore, the knocking was a magnified pounding that made my everything hurt a whole lot more. 

I groaned and rolled over, trying to make the noise go away before finally yelling out, "OI! Tha' hurts ye know? Are ye gonna jus' stand ou' there all day n' torture me to death n' beyon' or come in n' -"

Jack cut me short by stepping through the doorway, striding across the distance and clamping a hand firmly on my mouth. "That's enough," he whispered in my ear. Him whispering always had the same effect on me: instant and complete silence and stillness. "That's better. Now, luv, mind tellin' me how ye got from yer house to me boat in one night?"

I was saying something into his hand, more yelling than much else, when I quietened instantly for the second time in that morning. One man should not have that sort of affect on me, it's not right.

"Good, luv. Improvement, I see," Jack acknowledged. He removed his hand.

"Thank god!" I exclaimed with feeling. "Ye know ye were righ' close t' suffocation?"

"Oh really?" he replied, feigning innocent stupidity.

"Yes," I said, punching him lightly on the shoulder. I remade my facial expression to that of utmost sincerity and began to tell him, "Ye know ye don' have t' house me -" before being cut off yet again.

"I know I don't, but I do it anyway, luv," he gave me a little pat on the shoulder. "Now, get dressed. We go to sort out yer new living arrangements for ye."

"Oh Jack," I couldn't help it, this was a complete turnaround from the grief-wrought pirate of last night, I sat up and hugged him. After all, he was my best friend. He patted me awkwardly on the back, brushing my dark brown locks off my face and head out the door.

_Friendship to the end, _I thought, getting dressed and whistling softly.

**

* * *

Hi everyone! Finally finished the new chapter, tell me what you thought and review, review, review!! I apologise if Jack seemed a little OOC with the grief-stricken beginning of this chappie. I also apologise for lateness, I had plot issues. MAJOR plot issues, writer's block is a bum, don't you think? **


	3. The Hat and the Pearl

**Disclaimer: I will never own anything PotC except for their DVDs and other trinkets. I own my OC and she is the best!! **

**Hi everyone! Sorry about that, I know I've already posted this once, and I deleted it, but I decided it was missing something. After conference with some readers, you know who you are, I decided to add in a bit. So, you should probably read it again, just because you love me so much. Oh, and don't forget to review your little hearts out! **

**The Hat and the ****Pearl**

Six years later, I was laying in my little dingy – which I'd named _Gertrude's Nest_ for an entirely unknown reason – bleeding to death when I saw a ship on the horizon. I couldn't help but think, _Oh no. Someone's gonna see me like this, and after all I've done these past years, not good…_ but there was something familiar about those sails, yet still different.

I couldn't go anywhere because I'd been caught in a storm three days beforehand, which snapped my mast in half. My supplies had dwindled to rum and some mouldy, hard bread and I was beginning to think scurvy would have been a better way to die than bleeding from the deep gash that ran from my right shoulder, across the top of my collarbone to the opposing shoulder, and diagonally down my chest, stopping just above my bellybutton. It was painful to do anything, but once I'd escaped, I hopped on my little boat and sailed away, fainting, conveniently, in the middle of the ocean and waking to a broken mast. Bad predicament.

The ship on the horizon was a fast and steady vessel, which passed alongside me less than twenty minutes after I saw her. Since I was coming to and leaving consciousness at alarming speeds, I vaguely thought it dangerous to be in the middle of the ocean and picked up by complete strangers, though my thoughts were cut off as I fainted again.

* * *

I came to in a cabin, somewhat familiar to me but my observation of the room was blocked from view as a face leaned into my vision.

There was only one difference to the Jack Sparrow I last saw: the hat. The black hat had three points, one at the front and two on either side. It was a pirate captain's hat and that was probably the biggest change I saw in him. His black dreadlocks were the same with their many beads and that sole bone, tied back with the faded red bandana, his eyes were still the darkest, richest brown I'd ever seen, and his leering smile was still firmly attached to his face.

"'Ello luv!" he said merrily. I groaned. "Oh," Jack looked at me, "are ye going to tell me why you were half dead when we found you?"

Sudden realisation hit me. "It was you?!" I croaked, half asking, half accusing. Jack passed me glass of water, filled from a jug standing on a nearby table. I grunted my thanks and downed the glass. Thinking for a moment, I boldly asked, "Since when was the _Wench_,black?"

"Since it was the _Wicked Wench _no more," he replied steadily in a matter-of-fact way.

"Oh," I looked down, suddenly remembering my massive cut. Seeing fresh linen bandages under my shirt, I realised that Anamaria must have seen to me. "What's it called now?"

"The _Black _ _Pearl_!" Jack answered proudly.

"And why'd ye change the name?"

"'Cause of many reasons," and he set about to tell me his most recent stories including a deal with Davy Jones, meeting Will and Elizabeth and getting the _Pearl _back, Davy Jones' chest and how Jack tried to steal it. The stories ended with Jack dying and being brought back to life by his crew, Elizabeth, Will and Tia Dalma as well as the battle between Davy Jones and his crew of sea men, Lord Cutler Becket and his "red coats" and all the pirates on the earth plus Jack's own crew.

I was kind of sitting there, once he'd finished, staring at him with my mouth open. After a few moments, I finally found the strength to ask, "Ye _died_?"

He sort of looked at me, blinked a bit, and then nodded once slowly, saying, "Aye."

"And how come I only hear about this _after_ it happened?" I asked, outraged. "Me. Yer best friend. And ye _died_!!"

Jack covered my mouth with his hands, holding on until I shushed accordingly. "Aye. I died and look now," he gestured at himself, "I'm back in one piece."

"Yes, I see that but -" I began before being cut off yet again.

"Darlin', it's all in the past. It's all behind me, so it should be behind you."

Since I couldn't fathom how on earth that statement actually made sense, I sat there in silence. "Now, luv, once again; why were you stuck on a dingy in the middle of the ocean, with a bone-deep cut, bleeding to death?"

I couldn't tell him. I couldn't tell anyone, especially him. So I sat in further silence, carefully placing a saddened and miserable mask on my face. Jack would probably be the only person who could see through that face – we taught each other how to lie, trading our best tricks and practicing on each other – so I kept my head down.

"Ah," Jack got up. "Ye need me, I'll be on deck."

I struggled, "Wait, Jack!" He turned back. "How long've I been asleep?"

"Oh," he counted on his fingers, "five days?" Nodding, he left.

I listened to his boots thump down the hall and silently screamed inside my head, _FIVE DAYS?!!_ Dressing slowly to avoid pain on my new stitches, I realised I was starving, and made my way in what I hoped was the direction of the galley, banging into the walls and tripping with the boat's motion.

As I crashed through the door, Gibbs looked up from the contemplation of his flask. "Oh, 's ye, lass. Did Jack see t' ye?"

"Uh huh," I said, opening cupboards and grabbing the first edible something I found before digging in. The boat suddenly lurched; I reacted by twisting and consequently felt the tearing pain of my new scar. I winced and continued eating, Gibbs laughing at my antics.

Finishing, I got up and momentarily forgot I was on a boat, which saw fit to conveniently rock, causing me to be thrown from my feet. "OW!" I screamed, and felt Gibbs helping me up. I thanked him and left in search of a certain pirate, who I found at the helm, navigating a way through some shoals.

"So. What're ye going to do with me, then?" I asked after watching him spin the wheel and yell for Cotton to steer for a bit.

Heading down the steps, he grabbed my elbow to steady me. "Lucky for you, we were on our way to Tortuga. We'll drop ye off then."

"How many days?"

"Two. Three at the most." He lead me across the deck and to the starboard railing. We stood there for a while, watching the waves, the horizon and some lonely gulls and listening to the creaking of the _Pearl_ and the thrashing of water on her sides.

I looked down, staring at the pealing black paint and the scratches, a look of worry on my face. Jack put his hand on my shoulder and leant down to look me in the eyes, tilting my face up to him. I hastily wiped the worry from my face before laughing softly, shrugging his touch off and walking away to my cabin.

The rest of the trip to Tortuga I spent either sleeping or eating, regaining my strength to handle my home town adequately. On the day that the grimy port touched the horizon, I sashayed on deck, throwing open my hands and saying, rather loudly, "Oh look, Tortuga, I'm back!" The crew just laughed and Jack smiled to himself, thinking things I shall never know.

* * *

I stared at the burnt out ashes of my home, remembering everything and anything that connected me to this rowdy port. My mind focused on a particular memory: Jack and I were at a tavern, not the _Faithful Bride_ as usual, but a tavern farther out of the town. I was thirteen, Jack fifteen, and I had just begun to "develop".

_Walking through the door, Jack ordered our drinks from the barkeep and set us down at a table in a far corner. I guess old habits never die in the case of Jack and his table placements. The night was going smoothly until Celestine walked through the door, drunk as a skunk, looked at our table and stumbled her way over. _

_"Ye, ye whore!!" was her greeting, "Git yer stuff 'n leave, ye li'l tramp!" She sat next to Jack, draped an arm over his shoulders and licked his ear. _

_I was taken aback but it was nothing to Jack, who sat there cold and distant, his back rigid and unyielding to Celestine's continuous and progressively worse attempts to get him. When I didn't move, however, she reached up her dress and pulled out a knife. _

_Sitting there with someone, drunk to the point of brain damage and perfectly capable of killing even if that someone was unfamiliar with that task, and having them threaten you with your life is probably about as scared I would every be because I'd left any shred of weaponry back at home. I looked to Jack, who had no emotion at all, written on his face, and should have realised that Celestine should have wanted to leave then. She didn't get the hint, though. _

_Suddenly, Jack grabbed a lantern, protruding from the wall at our backs._ THE WALL AT OUR BACKS!!!_ I realised. At that moment, I felt very glad for Jack's habit. Meanwhile, Jack was miming smashing the lantern on the table, to set it on the fire unless Celestine took back what she said and walked away. How he mimed that all and actually got her to understand it all – her being drunk and all – I will never know. _

_Celestine turned and placed the knife at Jack's throat, saying "Ye can both go ter hell and beyond tergether. Maybe even get ter know 'er better, if ye catch me meanin'," and drew a gun from an unknown place. I vaguely wondered where she'd gotten her seemingly continuous supply of weaponry from. Seeing as most the armourers on this rock that I knew, would never sell something to a drunk._ These people keep surprising me,_ I observed silently. _

_"Luv, ye don't want to be doin' that," Jack said reasonably, despite his hostility. _

_"Oh, I'm sure I do," Celestine replied evenly, slurring slightly. I made to move, not knowing exactly _what_ I'd do, if I could. But no matter, as I was given a glare and a "don't even think about moving" look. _

_"Fine," I muttered, shrugging, and lent against the chair's back, crossing my arms in the motion. Celestine's pistol followed me back, digging into my throat in a somewhat painful manner. _

_Jack made a face as he looked at the knife at his throat. "If ye don't mind me asking," he began, awkwardly. Celestine shot him a filthy look that said perfectly well that she _did_ mind him asking, but he went on anyway, "Why are ye going t' kill her?" At the mention of "her" he jerked a thumb in my direction, which earned a major glare and a bleeding scratch on his neck, from the knife. He winced and straightened his face in the same breath. _

_"Acos she's a grimy trollop who thinks she's better 'n she's worth! She sleeps with men by the minute!" Celestine made out loudly. _

_At this statement, Jack, who'd sort of been returning from his emotionless void, looked like he'd hurled himself head-first into the middle of it and was waist-deep, sinking quickly. He looked up, fury etched in every line of his face, and hurled the still-burning brightly lantern at Celestine. _

_I missed what happened next. All I remember was Jack grabbing my arm and us running out of the tavern. On a hill, above the port, we watched the building go up in showers of sparks and clouds of smoke. _

_"I didn't mean ter burnt it down, jus' her," he was saying, an arm wrapped around my shoulders and a half full bottle of rum in his other hand. _

_He took a swig, in which I found the opportune moment to say, "Ye shouldn't 'a let 'er get t' ye. People make them sort 'a accusations all the time 'round 'ere." _

_Jack took his arm from my shoulders and put the bottle down. He placed his hands on my cheeks and turned my face to him. I felt his hot, rum-soaked breath on my skin as he said slowly and quietly, "I know, but people shouldn't say that stuff about you." _

I felt his hands on my back, again, rubbing nots out and comforting me. A tear trickled out my eye and I smiled.

* * *

Three days later, at the port, I stood there waiting for Jack to come back with the last group of supplies. He didn't know that he was going to hire me, I didn't know it either. All I _did_ know was that there was nothing left for me in Tortuga and I'd be damned if I stayed in that hell hole for no reason! I said as much to him five minutes later, when he asked me why I was here.

"Ye're not coming!" Jack said.

"_Ye_'re not my father. I'll do as I please. And as I recall, who was it that helped you out here? Mmm? Who gave you yer first sword n' who taught ye t' use it? I wonder -"

Jack clamped a hand over my mouth and whispered dead seriously in my ear, "Ye'll not yell that on top voice, _EVER_!! If the crew knew…"

I wrenched his hand from my mouth and turned to face him, "Ooh, ooh! If the crew ever found out," I was saying, mocking him in a little girl's voice, my fisted hands quivering under my chin. I stopped, knowing that it was an offensive, embarrassing and childish display, "As I said before, Jack, ye're not my father, my mother or my anything else under the sun. Ye'll give me a fair shot, jus' like all the other crew do."

He shook his head, looking at someone behind me. I turned to find Gibbs standing there, who had just finished saying "She's a right point there, Cap'n." I looked back at Jack, who was making slicing motions with a finger under his chin. He stopped abruptly, putting confusion into his face, "What?" he asked gruffly.

I turned back to Gibbs, shaking my head and swinging my sac onto my back. Walking up the gang plank I heard Jack say to Gibbs, "Well, are you gonna say it's bad luck to have a women on board?" There were footsteps behind me before Gibbs told him that he'd said it until he was blue in the face and it made no difference to anybody's decisions. Then I heard fabric shift in a shrug-like manner.

Shaking my head again, I walked to my cabin, my scar complaining with the salty air. The door banged open with the force I used to treat my blacksmith friend's door. Personally, I don't think my cabin door liked it anywhere near as much as the smithy's did, hence there was an almighty crash which sent Jack running down after me.

"Woa!!" he said in the manner one might calm a horse with, "Rian, these here doors are not like the ones on shore." He was beginning to get worked up. "Ye can't just go 'round bangin' 'em like drums!!"

"Shh, Jack," I whispered, walking over to the doorway and shoving a bottle of rum in his hand. "There. For ye collection." He just stood there, looking at me, his mouth slightly open. A few moments passed before I said "Well go on. On with ye," batting my hands at him in an indication to leave. He scarpered.

The room was small, but not tiny, with a hammock on one side, a mirror hanging on the wall opposite the door, and a tiny porthole in the wall adjacent. Under the hammock was a medium sized trunk which I put all my belongings in.

My stuff all in order, I settled in my hammock, swinging it to and fro slightly, while lounging on it with my arms behind my back. _Being a pirate is great,_ I thought wistfully,_ you don't need many things; a weapon or two, and a bottle of rum. Plus a change of clothes and it's all good._

**

* * *

****I want to know what you guys want to read. So tell me what you like and review!! Love you all who did. **


	4. Rat Cake

**Disclaimer: **_**Pirates of the Caribbean**_** will never be mine, so please don't sue.**

**Hey guys! I'm so sorry for the lateness, lots of things to do even if school's not back yet. I've got a job and it's sorta demanding. Thanks to **RumQueeen**. You rock!**

**Dedicating this to **Chicaga**, to whom I am terribly sorry. Like, very very very extreemly sorry. Oh yeah, and I feel really horrible. Plus, you're a great reader and writer, so I thought I'd take a leaf out of your book and dedicate to reviewers. Just occasionally.**

**Rat Cake**

The day dawned bright and early. I rolled over and reluctantly opened my eyes. At first, I'd forgotten but the fact was too hard to misplace in my head, especially since the person blocking my sight was Jack.

"Happy birthday, luv!" he exclaimed.

He seemed to be hiding something behind his back. I moved my head and upper body to the left, while he moved to the right, I swayed back the other way and he moved again.

My patience was running thin that morning. "What in blazes do ye think ye're doin'?" I huffed, swinging my legs out of the hammock and down to the wooden floorboards before slipping into shoes. I didn't have to worry about dressing; I'd slept in my clothes.

Jack flipped his hands from behind his back, repeating his birthday wish at the same time. A spyglass lay across his palms, beautifully scrubbed to a gleaming brownish gold. I laughed on the inside at the thick red velvety ribbon he'd tied around one end.

"Ye got me a spyglass?" I asked, rather ungratefully. _Not good. You're supposed to be thankful he actually remembered this year!_ My head scolded. "I'm sorry. Thank you," and I reached out a hand for it.

He pulled away, bringing the glass close to his chest and placing a look of hurt pride on his face. Jack slipped it in the back of one his belts and brought his hands in front of him, forefingers sticking up. "It's not just any ordinary spyglass. Rian, this spyglass is _special_," he said incredulously, reminding me of a child with his "special" rock or blade of grass. I smiled faintly in spite of it all.

"Yeah, special like you," I muttered under my breath. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw that Jack had heard me and was feigning offence. "What's so special, then?" I faced him and gave him the full effects of my most piercing stare. I cocked an eyebrow in slight impatience.

His hands disappeared behind his back again, coming around his body moments later, the glass clutched in one hand. "It's _Tia Dalma_ special, luv. Got it when I bought my compass from 'er."

"Oh, is that so?" The present was becoming interesting. _He bought me something remotely worthwhile,_ I mused, a weird grin on my face. _I always wanted something like his compass. Something "_special_"._

It was a rhetorical question, but he answered anyway. "Yep," he nodded curtly.

"What's she done to it?" curiosity now edging my tone.

"See fer yerself," and he gave me the spyglass, pointing at a wall.

"Ok. Here goes," I breathed, and hoisted the glass to my eye.

Since my cabin is conveniently located next to the hold, all I saw was crates and barrels, their contents and rats. There must have been a look of shock, or wonder, or a mixture of the two, on my face because Jack said "Mind ye don' sway yer gaze my way, or any one else's way, fer the moment-"

But it was too late. All I can say is that I'm sure lucky I am more to the tall side, as I had spun around slowly to look out the other side of my cabin, facing Jack along the way. Bringing the glass down, I smirked at Jack, feeling concern at his scars and pleasure at his taught, tanned and mildly muscled frame. "Don't worry," I assured him, "yer bloody lucky I'm not a short lass. I didn't see anything worth my while." It would have been too weird if I had.

Jack sighed in relief, and then recomposed his face to that of when he first woke me: excitement mingled with his usual smugness.

An unexpected thought occurred to me. "Ye didn'…" my voice trailed off although the meaning of my unfinished sentence was still present.

"No-no-no-no-no!" Jack said hastily. "NO." He wasn't yelling, he just said it very firmly with the sort of finality that one would use in the case of a misbehaving child.

"Alright. Can't blame a girl fer wond'rin'," I was laughing now. "So what else can this fine little thing do?"

At this query, Jack ushered himself over to my side and gently pried the spyglass from my hands. "Well, there's one other thing," he began, collapsing it then twisting the larger end clockwise twice and then anticlockwise once then reopening it. He looked through the glass quickly as if checking something then gave it to me. "Now, focus on something far away and look."

I did as he commanded, thinking desperately of Tortuga, not having landed in the port for over a year. I brought the glass to my eye, and to my astonishment, looked in on _the Faithful Bride_, who was being cleaned after a long night of activity. My jaw dropped and I gave the spyglass back to Jack. "Wow," I softly uttered, "Jack, you've really out done yerself this time. One question, actually, two: How come you held on to it fer so long?"

"Ah," he said, bringing his hands into the forefinger up position he favours so much, "well… see, I've been… waiting, yes, waiting… for the right moment, to give it to ye."

"Oh," I replied, a little crestfallen, "righ'."

"Ye said ye had two questions, luv. What's the other?" Jack asked reasonably, tilting his head to the side and entwining his hands before him in genuine interest.

"Yes. This… spyglass doesn't have any… _catches_, does it?"

Jack drew himself up, ready to deny all claims to weirdness about his birthday gift and stopped short of himself. "A-ah," he said again. "Well, now that you mention it…" he trailed off and I gave him my best "get on with it or else" look. "Yes, there's one more thing." He paused, crossing his eyes vaguely as he contemplated the formation of his next sentence. "Ye've got ter bleed on it."

"Jack!" I exploded. "Urgh! That's just gross!" Calming down considerably, I asked him "why".

"Because," he cleared his throat importantly. "Because, then, no one else can use it. Because, then, and only then, is it forever sealed to you. And your descendants, of course."

"Of course," I said bitterly, "providing I actually _have_ some."

Chuckling at my antics, Jack produced a knife and offered it, hilt-first, to me, an "after you" look on his face.

"Oh no," I said warily, sticking my hand out in front of me, "I'm not cutting myself _on purpose_. You do it." He looked at me as if to say "are you sure?" and took my airborne hand in his own. The spyglass was tucked into one of his belts, sitting snugly against his hip bone.

In one smooth motion, he drew a path across the base of my open palm with the blade, the mildly deep cut welled with blood. Jack closed his hand around my own, turned it on the side and pulled the spyglass underneath it. The dagger sheathed, we stood there, in the middle of the room watching as my blood dripped from my hand onto the metal of the spyglass.

"How much blood?" I asked him in the midst of it all.

Jack frowned, "a few drops. It should spark a bit when the first droplet touches it."

"Uh huh," I acknowledged vaguely, watching as what he said, became true. Small but bright red sparks flew a few inches from the metal and dissolved into the atmosphere.

"That should just about do it," he concluded after a moment, letting go of my hand and slipping the ribbon from the spyglass. Jack reclaimed his grip of my hand, holding it gently in one while he tied the ribbon around the cut.

"Alright, Jack," I began, "thank you, very much." Finishing, I clasped his hand in mine.

"Any time, luv," he replied, giving me a warm look and returning my gesture with just as much fervour, "any time."

And, with that, he left, the display of affection no doubt becoming too much for him to handle, too much for the both of us. Tears of joy crinkled in the corners of my eyes and I sat on the hammock, absently rolling the spyglass in my hands, thinking, contemplating the possibilities and opportunities.

* * *

An hour after midday, the crew were making their way down to the galley, lunch being an important meal and meals being important from the stomach's point of view, when there was a pile up at the door. It wasn't _exactly _a pile up, just that a few people, including me, stopped to look at the small cluster of barnacles and minute sea creatures like starfish. The miniscule assemblage glistened with water and slime, moss on and around it. Jack waltzed up behind me, looked at the things on the wall and shuddered. 

"Bloody immortals," he muttered, stalking forward. "It's ok," he called, "Just a temporary set back." Strolling through the door, I heard Jack say "Wonder what Jones wants now…"

I eyed the temporary set back with trepidation, keeping my true emotions on the inside.

The line moved forward, only to stop again, as Jack, this time, was the one to look nervously at the mountainside of cake, sitting on the table in the middle of the room.

Walking forward, past the crew, I hung off Jack's arm and said "Oh, Jack, you shouldn't have." I scraped my forefinger along the cake's pink icing and licked the stuff off. I should have realised, then, that something was wrong.

"It tastes like salt!" I screamed, spitting out the offending mouthful.

"No good," Jack said, "Not good, not good, not good."

Just then, the place where my finger had swiped the icing grew into a hole and a shiny black, button-sized nose poked its way to air. The cake exploded, parts of it showering the walls and ceiling, as hundreds of miniscule rats swept like waves from the core of the alleged "cake". I looked at Jack, who, like me, was coated in thick layers of sponge and icing, patches of clean behind us on the walls. He wore an expression of bewilderment as he stared, first at the remains of the cake, the legions of miniature rats, and then at me.

I shrugged at his unasked question. "I've no idea why people would want to infest our ship and try to kill us," I stated, like it was a script I'd rehearsed, which, in many cases, it was, should a situation of this nature occur.

Davy Jones wanted revenge, and he was going to have it, one way or another.

* * *

The remainder of my birthday I spent watching crewmembers running the length and breadth of the _Black Pearl_'s decks and hull, searching for rats that had disappeared to the homes of their brethren, who had a considerably smaller population. It would have been funny, watching them running up and down chasing after small black blurs, had the situation not been life threatening. 

Gibbs was running after two of the coal black rats crouched in two, bent at the waist with his gorilla-like arms straight out before him, running like that. Jack walked past me at the time, while I was fighting the urge to laugh outright. He looked at me, raising an eyebrow in a quizzical manner. When I opened my mouth to reply, he shook his head in a "I'm not going to even try to understand you" way, looking bemused and vaguely disappointed at the same time.

Men used the glue that they would ordinarily seal cracks in the hull of the boat instead, to seal any hole that rats could use as an entrance, the pitch cementing it shut tight. Jack thought that if the rats could not get food, they'd starve to death. How very wrong he was. We ran out of supplies within days of possession, the rats having eaten through them at unnatural speeds, even for scavengers. We'd go for periods of time when little or nothing was eaten, the rum was locked in Jack's cabin and any food found unaffected by our uncanny plague, was to be evenly distributed between the crew and its captain.

We ended up dropping anchor in Tortuga and baiting the rats with food from the city. Strangely enough, they had disappeared, like the months of starvation were fine and well, but once in Tortuga, letting us be. The crew strolled off to the inn where we were staying, Gibbs muttering of bad luck and curses. Jack draped an arm over my shoulder and followed me through the pirate port.

All the walking saw me again at the burnt skeleton of my home, blackened and neither repaired nor sold. The acrid smell of smoke and charred flesh didn't help matters. My temper got the better of me and I stormed through the place, picking up things and throwing them elsewhere. All the while screaming and grumbling about "doing things by your self if they're to be done at all" when a pair of arms seized my own, placing them firmly by my sides and the owner of the arms walked me out.

As I glanced around quickly, I noticed Jack missing and looked up behind me into the beautiful depths of his dark, concerned eyes. He didn't say anything, merely loosening the grip on my limbs and walking by my side, looking at me in the way that conveyed he knew I'd speak only when I was ready. I took one look at my father's burnt body and sped my walk to a quicker pace.

Somewhere on a street about half an hour's walk from my home, I burst into furious tears, screaming softly "They didn't clean _any _of it up. Nothing. Just leave land like that, burnt and blackened." I went on like that for a while, the tears slowing and the words turning to the occasional hiccough. Jack said nothing throughout my tirade; all he did was look at me.

"Soon as ye've had a drink," he began, talking for the first time in what felt like ages, "we'll go see the firs' undertaker ye lay eyes on, aye?" I felt his arm on my shoulders again, the warm weight pressing down on me and creating a sense of comfort.

"Alright," I agreed, leaning my head on his chest and letting him steer me down the street to the _Faithful Bride_.

After the drinks, we paid a man to take my father's body to the local church and bury it. Jack hired another man to sell the land, and in turn pull down the horrid remains of the block's original housing and probably build something else on top.

I left Tortuga at the starboard rails, looking back at the port thinking deeply about leaving the past behind and focusing on the present, possibly the future. The sun's rise left pinkish streaks on the sky, grey flashing across every which way. All in all, the atmosphere was brilliant; with the sea breeze whipping at my loosely curling tendrils of dark hair and the spray of salty water splashing my cheeks and making me feel more at home than that port had ever done so.

Chancing a glance at the crew working behind me, I saw Jack at the helm, his coat slapping around his legs with the wind and his hat placed just so that the commanding stance was a touch from threatening. The crew were wildly at work, pulling on ropes in a joking manner, laughing with each other and fooling around but still maintaining great paces with the _Pearl's_ sails. It was refreshing to watch them so relaxed and comfortable, the events of the past months totally behind them. It helped me to move on.

Lost to my thoughts, I didn't notice Jack disappear from the helm into his cabin, his brow furrowed with concern. But I _did_ notice he'd left, dismissing his departure and thinking nothing further of if. _Probably gone to look at an ancient map, poke his compass for a bit and then find a heading that will lead to untold treasures,_ I thought, a tad savagely.

Turning back to the rail and the sea, I realised Tortuga was no longer in sight, something that seemed to really wake me up. _It's gone,_ I realised. _It's gone and it is over._

* * *

**Well, this was a pretty weird chapter; like one of those "filler" things that them that get paid - authors - seem to love so much. Anyway, it may not be a filler chapter, some things may be important in my master plan that occur here, eh? (Major hint right there!) Review, please, my lovelies. I would like to know what you all like and what you don't like, and what mistake li'l ol' me makes. LOL!! Thanks to **RumQueen**, again.**


	5. Sinking and Drowning

**Disclaimer: Mine is Rian (Full name is Katriana Harping), Not mine is _Pirates of the _****_Caribbean_****_: CotBP, DMC & AWE, _****Jack Sparrow, the _Black Pearl_, Gibbs and Anamaria, the crew. Have I made myself clear? I. DO. NOT. OWN. PIRATES!!! Just so you know. LOL**

**Oh yeah... this is slightly shorter than my other chapters and I apologise sincerly for it. Also, I held off posting acoz there was something wrong wiv the alert system.**

**Sinking and Drowning **

I was out on deck; the sun was striping the sky with pinks and oranges, the original blue crossed with pink cast purple haze over the bright sea beneath the ship's hull. Rocking back and forth, I breathed deeply and caught the scent of salt.

_Magnificent, _I thought.

Surrounded by water, some might feel repressed but not me. I felt at home, the rails of the _Black Pearl_ gripped tightly, her boards beneath my feet gently swaying with the swells of the current beneath her. She was a person too, that grand ship, and she creaked with the motions of her body as if she were being massaged maybe.

It struck me that the views from the crows nest would be better now than any other time so I climbed my way up the ropes. All the while, thinking about the simplicity of the open sea.

My thoughts tumbled into the fray as I reached the top, the crow's nest was already occupied by a person, who had their back turned. I was so shocked, in fact, that I let go of the ropes in my hand and fell, hooking my boots into safer places in the nick of time. Hanging upside down at five or six o'clock in the morning is probably not the best way to start a day.

Hands grabbed my ankles and hoisted me to my rightful position. I must have screamed when I fell. It was the only way they could have known I was there, let alone falling or hanging upside down.

"Thanks," I muttered gruffly, trying to find somewhere to stick my hands that weren't the person or the nest or anywhere else, for that matter. I gave up my futile search for an alternative hand hold and grabbed the nest's walls, deciding whether I was going to stay or not.

"Any time, luv," Jack husked. I looked up, shocked for a second time that morning which was his fault on both counts.

"Why are _you_ up here?" I enquired.

"Why are _you_?" he replied like he was a child again, avoiding the question.

"Jack…" I said, unimpressed. I would have put my hands on my hips had I not been pretty much suspended in mid air. I took his offered hand and he hoisted me up into the cramped area. "Is this even s'posed t' fit more 'n one person at a time?" I couldn't help but ask.

Inwardly frowning upon myself, I listened to Jack's answer: "No idea. Don't think so." He laughed. "Oh well."

We sat there for the remainder of the sunrise, sharing the peace and quiet and thinking our individual thoughts, not needing to share them. Only when the crew began to stir and make noise, did Jack leave, saying "Another dawn, another day, another adventure."

"How very profound of you, Jack," I muttered. I bent my head, not wanting him to either realise I'd said something or, see the smile slapped across my face. The battle to resist the urge to laugh was a very narrow win. However, the noticing of Jack was short-lived.

"Sorry. Didn't catch that, luv?" _Bugger, _I cursed silently. _Bugger, bugger, bugger! **It's not that bad. Him hearing, **_another part of me argued. _Why does it even matter?_ I inwardly snorted at this last thought.

My superfluous battle of my mind's inhabitants was cut short when Jack snapped his fingers in front of my face. Jumping a little, I glared at him and said, "nothing". Jack shrugged and resumed his descent.

Hours later, I was dozing slightly, still looking at the now brightly lit ocean and perfect blue sky but thinking about nothing. It was the meditation state where I felt outside of myself but in that comfortable sense, considering the subtleties and differences and the delicate mirroring between the Caribbean Sea and the sky overhead. The association was pure beauty – beauty which stimulated the mind in such wondrous and, in some cases, startling ways.

It was all fine and dandy when, in my meditated state, I noticed something on the horizon.

_Oh,_ I sighed. _It's just a storm. Not like it's something new._ And so I called to the crew about the coming squall. Gibbs heard and told Jack, who was, as usual, standing at the helm steering the great vessel like a proud father or lover. I watched him and Gibbs confer for a few moments, most likely about how to deal with the storm, before Gibbs turned to the crew and shouted some orders. They scurried around the deck, tying down ropes to prepare for the approaching storm.

Grabbing one of the ropes in a hand, I swung out of the crow's nest and down on to the deck, landing with a minimal thump next to Jack.

"Just in time," he said, reaching an arm around my shoulders. "Look," he pointed in the direction of the clouds.

I rolled my eyes before glancing in the promoted direction. "Jack, dearie," I teased, pinching his ear. "You're forgetting in yer old age that is was I – here, I pulled my hand to my chest, swelling with fake pride – who told ye 'bout our comin' storm."

"That," he replied, looking me in the eye, "I knew. No," Jack looked away. "Do you have your spyglass on ye?"

I nodded, slightly embarrassed that I carried it everywhere with me. "What happened t' yours? Surely a storm as close as that needn't warrant a magicked one?"

"Aye, ye're right about that one. Mine's in me cabin but ye've always got yours on you these days." Jack chuckled at the last fact, smugly content that his gift had had such… _successful _results.

When I tried to disconnect the glass from the belt at my hip, I found it to be impossible as Jack's arm had become in a inconvenient place. I slapped his hand and recommenced my work, bending slightly at the waist for unknown reasons.

"Ha ha!" I exclaimed, snapping up with the freed spyglass in my hand.

"Ta," Jack said, taking it from my hand and bringing it to his eye, pointed towards the cluster of clouds drawing nearer. His face fell.

"What?" I asked him. "Jack, what is it?"

He said nothing so I reached up and plucked the spyglass from his grip, bringing it down to my eye. As I looked, the expression my face wore, matched that of Jack's face.

"That's…" I began, lost for words. "That's… that's not…" I tried again. "That's not a storm."

"Aye," Jack whispered, his voice trailed off.

"That's…" My brain seemed to be malfunctioning at the moment because I'm not proud that all I could say is "that's". I mentally slapped myself on the back in the way in which one might prevent another from choking. "That's a waterspout!" I blurted out. Gibbs, who was within earshot, looked up abruptly.

"Aye," Jack repeated.

Gibbs scurried over and his presence seemed to knock Jack back to reality. A reality in which no sailor would ever want to be found in. A reality which would cause the loss of his beloved _Pearl__, again_. "Uh… Captain? Ye ever been in one o' these before?" Gibbs enquired awkwardly.

"Uhmm…" Jack responded. "Nope."

"Great," I muttered, letting the word drag out and rolling my eyes. Gibbs just said nothing.

"Not that I don't know what to do," Jack added quickly. "All we need to do is steer 'round it," he said, grabbing the wheel and demonstrating turning it. I exchanged looks with Gibbs that said clearly "we're so dead".

"Cap'n," Gibbs said slowly, as if he was addressing a small child. "Might I let ye know that waterspouts steer 'emselves."

"Yes," Jack replied, not understanding. "Meaning?"

"Meanin'," Gibbs continued. "Meanin' that ye just can't steer 'round it."

Suffice to say that we were damned, I walked away muttering as much but at that moment, the storm struck. The ship lurched to the side, throwing me into the railing. I screamed. The rest of the crew were hurrying to retie ropes and holding sails in place. I didn't see what happened next. All I know is as I thumped to the ground – caused by previously mentioned lurch – my head hit the railing and the world went black.

Three seconds later, I felt someone tapping me on the shoulder and light flared into my vision. I groaned and rolled over, dry heaving because it felt like the bottom of my stomach had fallen out.

After a moment, I got up and tried to do something. It wasn't that I couldn't, it was that fear had frozen me solid. I think that a lot of people were in the same predicament as me.

The whirling vortex of wind and water descended on us. Some people screamed. If I hadn't lost my head along with them, I would have thought that screaming wouldn't do them any good but, as it were, there wasn't much else that would do us good.

As is hit the side of the boat, the wood crunched with the contact. It was a horrible scream that ripped through the roar of the waterspout, snapping everyone out of the daze they'd been in. Immediately, every reacted, fighting the spiralling column with everything they had which, unfortunately, wasn't much.

I saw Gibbs bustle over to Jack, who was standing at the helm, doing his best to guide his beloved _Pearl_ to safety. Racing after him, I heard Gibbs ask "Cap'n, orders?"

Jack looked at the wheel in his hands then across the deck to his crew, who weren't faring well and back to the wheel. He sighed heavily, a spooky sound that was earth shattering and heart wrenching. "Abandon ship… into the longboat."

There are only so many things you can use when battling nature. Running was the best thing we could do.

"Aye, aye, Cap'n," Gibbs said sadly. The _Black Pearl_ was like a home to him, too. He ran to tell the crew.

Jack looked at me, his eyes asking me if he was doing the right thing.

"I don't know…" I said to him, "I've no idea."

He gave the wheel a last turn for luck and let go, walking down the steps and to the point where the crew were boarding the longboat.

I followed at a distance. Looking again at the _Pearl_ and remembering my life aboard her.

At the separation where the ladder to the bobbing long boat was, a patch of water lay in waiting. It was a little hollow, worn in from long-term use and moss had formed because of it, making the puddle a slippery foothold.

Gibbs looked at me and yelled, "Ye haven't time for goodbyes, lass," before turning back and starting down the ladder. I ran to the spot and the last thing I remember was my head making contact with the edge of the wood. I had slipped on the mossy patch and everything went black.

* * *

The motion of the longboat being rowed was soothing, sitting there, trying not to think about what I'd just been told but failing miserably. And the motions of the boat were helping me through it. I felt bad, actually, I felt worse. It wasn't my fault but I was trying to understand how Jack felt right now. If I felt like this. I shuddered. 

"Y'alright there, lass?" Gibbs offered.

"Um… no," I looked down and noticed a long cut down the length of my forearm, bandaged roughly with a scrap of material. _When did I get that?_ I thought vaguely. "What happened?"

Pintel and Ragetti looked at me from behind Gibbs, where they were rowing along with two other crewmembers. I was at the back of the little craft, Gibbs facing me, Marty on one side and Cotton on the other. Anamaria was near the front and the rest of the crew had arranged themselves between him and me.

"The waterspout…" Gibbs began, looking at Jack and promptly lowering his voice, "took the _Pearl_."

Everyone wore the same ashen face as me: shock mingled with fear. It was like it was confirmed, and that the hell of the last few hours wasn't just a nightmare. It had actually happened. Jack, at the bow of the boat, sat with his back to the crew, his head bowed and his body small and cowed. Seeing him that way nearly ripped me up inside. I couldn't begin to comprehend how he felt. Like losing a loved one, I suppose. Like when he lost his father. Like when I lost mine.

If matters weren't already horrid, a low rumbling noise split the fresh air. Moments later, a ship, unlike any other, exploded from the water's surface. The wood was rotten and ugly, seaweed hung from any place it could hold and crustaceans clustered on the space where the seaweed wasn't. The bow of the boat was shaped to look uncannily like a shark's mouth. Despite the alterations the sea had performed on it, the vessel was brilliant and fast.

I braced myself, biting my lip subconsciously. The _Flying Dutchman_ drew alongside us and Davy Jones stepped to the rails, his beard of tentacles writhing in their usual fervour.

"Jack Sparrow," he said, his accent thick. "Where be yer _Pearl_?"

* * *

**Does that count as a cliffhanger? Hehehe. Everyone else keeps doing it so I decided that I would too. Revenge. LOL… Reviews are nice. :P Oh yeah, school started again this week so updates are only weekly, if that. Yeah, don't forget to review! XD**

**NB: Depending on the quality and quantity of the reviews I get, I may or may not write another chapter.**

**Oh yeah, and do you guys think I need to make my chapters longer?**


	6. Deals

**A/N: Hey guys. I should be shot. I am so sorry for the lateness. Really, although it was quite amusing because I took so long after ending on a cliffhanger. I know you're sneering at me, I am sorry. So, I'll keep this short, why I took so long:**

**1. Davy Jones, his crew, and most circumstances that take place aboard the **_**Flying Dutchman**_** are - to me - ****extremely**** hard to write, hence time was spent doing it. **_**A lot**_** of time.**

**and**

**2. It is now officially eisteddfod season here in (almost) sunny Sydney, Australia. I, as the dancer that I am, am being trained so bad that half expecting the teachers to get whips out would be a rational thought. Okay, I **_**am**_** exaggerating but that's what it's like right now. So, you should all know that my time was not wasted and we actually won in the combined 12U and 14U Hip Hop section. Applause**

**And now, without further a do, unto the story.**

**Disclaimer: Do I have to do this again? I do NOT own **_**Pirates of the Caribbean**_

**Deals**

Jack stared up at Davy Jones, a look of horror on his face. Realising what he was doing, he promptly wiped the look off his face and replied, "Wouldn't you love to know?"

Davy Jones sneered at Jack before ordering they be brought aboard. Looking from person to person aboard the longboat, his gaze rested on me the longest. I bit my lip and avoided eye contact with the _Flying Dutchman's_ Captain. Unnerved, I was. I knew he knew something.

We boarded the ship in a slow procession. The crew scrambled to grab their belongings before the bo'son gave the order that the longboat be sunk. Lining up along the deck, a crewmember of the _Dutchman's _at every back, we faced Davy Jones.

He thumped slowly up the line, peering venomously into each sailor's face. At the same time as being scared witless, I was waiting for Jack to come up with some smart arse remark, but none came.

I craned my head to look at him from where I was standing in the line, between Gibbs and Ragetti. Jack was next to Gibbs with Cotton on his other side. He saw me staring and gave me a grin, but he wasn't quick enough. Turning back, I shuddered slightly, hoping that no one would notice.

_Was that fear? _I thought. I saw it, only for a second, a fleeting spark that crossed his eyes as he stared aimlessly ahead of him. At that moment, I lost all hope. If Jack Sparrow… "the" _Captain_ Jack Sparrow couldn't save us, couldn't save himself, who could?

Jones's clunking stopped, conveniently, at that time, as though he knew we couldn't help ourselves. A sly grin prickled his lips and his beard of tentacles quivered with anticipation. Locking his arms behind his back, a tentacle drew forth his pipe and lit it. He puffed on it thoughtfully, considering his decision. The Captain blew smoke out his mouth, finally resting on the decision and the grin spread. The bo'son started laughing a moment after he did.

He shot him a look, silencing him immediately, and thumped his way across the deck towards Jack. But before he opened his mouth, Jack interjected, "See, what I don't understand is why you're trying to kill me- us, in the first place. What did we do to you?"

A look of pure hatred shot across both men's faces before Davy replied, "That's not part of the question." I didn't miss the fleeting glance at me, I just hoped Jack did.

"'Not part of the question'…" Jack repeated, dumbfounded. "It's the _only_ question."

Jones considered this statement for a few moments, his eyes vaguely wandering down the line, stopping on me. And that's when I saw it. I saw the flash of suspicion in his eyes. He knew. _How much…?_ I wondered hazily. His voice pulled me back from my wanderings.

"Jack Sparrow, ye know very well that I cannot set foot on land for near of a decade." I speculated on where this was going.

"Aye…" It seemed Jack was about as clear on the Captain's plans as I, or any of the crew (both sides) was.

"Well than enjoy yer stay on the _Flying Dutchman_!" Davy Jones roared suddenly. He laughed harshly. After looking bewilderedly at his Captain, the bo'son laughed awkwardly for a few short seconds before his hacking attempt died off completely.

When nothing was said or done, Jones surveyed his crew with growing impatience. "What are you doing? Get to work!" he bellowed before stomping his way to the organ in his quarters. I watched the retreating back with growing trepidation and was shocked as the sky opened up and showered rain down on us. The crew of the _Dutchman_ poked each member of the _Pearl's_ crew in the back and we walked to separate spots on the deck.

We worked for the rest of the day, doing the jobs that we would have done on the _Black Pearl_. Occasionally, the bo'son would appear, asking for a particular crewmember to go see Davy Jones. They would return half an hour later, scared as if they'd seen a ghost, and numbly resume their work.

Jack's turn rolled around and the bo'son grabbed him by the arm and began to drag him in the direction I'd seen Davy disappear earlier. I looked up, worry etched in every line on my face. Jack cast one fleeting glance towards me before succumbing to his captor's pull. He walked slowly towards Jones's quarters as if in a daze, his eyes glazed over, resolved.

I bit my lip and momentarily paused my scrubbing of the deck before a whip lashed at my back. Screaming, I dropped to my knees and a wave of water splashed over the rail and drenched me. I screamed again as the salty water caused my back to sting as though it was on fire.

The man with the whip snarled at me and lashed again. I bit my lip again to avoid screaming and tasted the hot coppery blood flow through my mouth. He snarled again and left, while I groped for the fallen brush and mutely resumed my scrubbing, resolutely staring at the rotting deck. I didn't see Gibbs's concerned glance or hear Anamaria's muttered curse.

Waiting for Jack was the longest wait of them all. I don't think he came out until at least two hours had past and by the end of the first, I had begun to fret. Not fretting in the visible sense, but on the inside I was repeatedly asking the same questions and thinking the same thoughts and they weren't good thoughts.

The man staggered on deck and looked, surprisingly, fine. My mouth fell open and I simply stared as he crossed the deck to the place where he'd previously been working. He picked up the brush and resumed work, his usual swagger accenting the scrubbing. I looked around me and most of the crew held the same expression as I did: complete and utter shock. Some were confused. I know I was.

As the sun began to disappear beyond the horizon, a crewmember by the name of Clanker gruffly grabbed my arm and drew me below deck. Other sailors directed the rest of the _Pearl's _crew bellow decks into the brig. I was taken elsewhere.

The first thing I noticed about Davy Jones's quarters was the massive organ, right at the end of the room. It took up so much space that I vaguely wondered whether or not we were still on the ship. Waking from my wonderings with the sharp prod in the back from my captor I looked at Jones. He sat at a stool in front of the organ, facing me and there was a patch of dryer ground in front of him.

I was shoved gruffly forwards to the patch and dumped on my bottom. Scared, I unwillingly looked up at Davy through my bangs. I must have been a sight; my shirt ripped and torn at the back from the lashes of the whip, my cheeks were both swollen from the slaps of the _Dutchman's_ crew and my wounds were inflamed and bleeding. At least the salt water would clean the cuts and I wouldn't have to go through the pain that rum would inflict upon me… if I ever saw rum again. That thought immediately lead to Jack and I sighed again, pitying him because of his loss of the _Black Pearl _and rum, as well as myself, who was the reason for this mess in the first place.

Meanwhile, Davy Jones was peering at my closed and swollen face as I thought. It was a few moments before either of us said anything and I realised that we were alone when I heard the door slam shut. Whipping my head around, I looked at the door like I was reassuring myself of the fact that it was closed and that we were alone. I turned back to Jones, who watched me carefully. I don't think I've ever seen him so quiet, just sitting there breathing, his beard of tentacles all in a twirling slithery mass, the blue eyes looking, unreadable.

Fury suddenly came over me, the likes of which I hadn't felt since… my father's death, my father's _murder_. It was all I could do to stay still, quietly seething and waiting for some reaction. At the same time as being angry, I was scared beyond my wits. I was sitting by myself in a room with the devil who should have been raging beyond sanity because I _knew_ he knew what I'd done. It didn't make sense, how someone like Jones could possibly be so calm in the face of the task I'd performed.

Once again, an emotion overcame me, shoving the fury into its box inside my soul, there to wait its calling once more. This emotion was one in uniqueness, quite a distinctive emotion which was probably given the wrong name. It was more like a realisation, an idea.

"Jones, what do you want from me?" I said decisively. I wasn't the only one slightly astounded at my forwardness. Having said that, there were three choices: I look scared at daring to say such a rude statement, I look decisive because I should show him I'm not scared (not true) or I sit calm and measured, leaving my face blank as I go over my plan. I chose option number three, thinking it was for the best. I had to finalise my plan anyway.

Jones looked taken aback but the question only threw him for a second before he returned to his cool and calculating self. "The box."

"What box?" I said, playing dumb.

"You know very well 'what box'!" Davy replied crossly, his tentacles all in a quiver.

"I did not, nor do I know now. What is this 'box' you're so keen on?"

Outraged, Jones leapt up, a feat which proved quite spectacular at the speed in which performed as he had a peg leg. Then I felt the tight, suffocating squeeze that was his pincer hand around my throat. I coughed and spluttered, gripping at the pincer with my hands in a futile attempt to make it leave its firm hold around my neck. "Do you _not_ know of the music box?" Jones asked fiercely.

I gave up all hope and succumbed to my terrible fate, if fate would actually be taking charge right now. My struggling relented and I heaved a moaning sigh. "No, Jones. What does it look like?" I knew I was being quite rude, but I wasn't the one holding death around someone's oesophagus. Yes, I also knew that provoking that certain someone with rudeness isn't the best means to handle it either.

The Captain made a noise in the back of his throat which I, for one, could not describe. It was something like a cross between a moan, groan and a rasp. Whatever it was, it was definitely an acknowledgement. A second later, I felt air fill my lungs as I was released, my face and head feeling heavy from the rush of blood to the surface.

Deep breaths and slow pacing lead to Jones's considerate yet still enraged eyes upon me. It was unnerving, having a sea monster sewn from the rumours of the sea's howling and the moaning of every ship's hull staring at you because he knows you know he knows what you've done to him. But this time, I didn't try to figure why Davy Jones was acting so calm about it – when he found out that Norrington had stolen his heart he went completely crazy, according to Jack – so I had reason to worry, but I didn't. I stayed focused on my plan.

Slowly, I stood, from the place on the ground that I'd fallen to, my legs sore and aching from their maltreatment. Turning, I made my way smoothly to the door and, with my hand on the handle, was stopped by his shout. I jumped a little even though I had been expecting it.

"Not so fast," Jones yelled. I winced as I turned back, making a face but it disappeared quickly.

Clenching my fists, I looked from the ground at the sea Captain's feet, to his cold blue eyes. "You stay here until I get back," he commanded, thumping his way to the door and pushing me roughly aside. I fell to the ground as the door slammed shut and I shuddered, finding myself left alone in Davy Jones's room, staring coldly at the grand organ from the salty rotting wooden floor. Gradually, I rose and stepped closer as if drawn by an unknown source, curiosity edged with fear and at the same time, respect of such a vastly majestic instrument.

Now at the stool where I'd so recently seen Jones himself sitting, I sat too. I didn't touch the keyboard, or anything else. I merely folded my hands in my lap humbly. Looking at the keyboard, I feel into a trance, meditating on my predicament and my plan and my immense pity of all those onboard the ship who did not wish it. My mind roamed these planes, thinking of everything in anything that came to it, mostly focusing on the look on Jack's face, his loss of hope, his loss of determination, loss of love – if not in form of romantic love, still of physical pretension.

I considered the slavery of all those who crewed the _Black Pearl_, now aboard this ghost ship, ruled and captained by the devil himself, the ruler of the sea, the commander of the Kraken. Knowing it was my fault, I went over my plan, considering every point of advantage and disadvantage and coming to the same conclusion: _I hade to do this… for the crew, for myself… and for Jack._

Just then, the door banged open, nearly thrown off its hinges as a particularly triumphant looking Davy thumped his way towards me. The triumph faded smoothly and quickly, replaced by a rage as powerful as the wind howling into the sails above us and the current pushing the bowed planks beneath us.

"Get off!" he roared, outraged and furious. Jones threw me from the stool, knocking me painfully onto the floor for the umpteenth time that day. I unceremoniously removed myself from the disgustingness of that floor and stood before the enraged seaman, a small speck before his ire.

Jones then did something very strange, he looked at the door. Following his gaze, I noticed a very shocked looking Jack, standing in the doorway and clutching his hat before him.

"Come to join the party, eh?" I said shakily.

The corners of his mouth perked up a bit in a miniscule smile and he nodded very slightly. "Aye, luv," Jack said softly.

_Humble Jack,_ I thought serenely,_ who'd'a thunk it?_ My fear of the towering Captain behind me had momentarily disappeared. Jack strode forward, swishing his hat on top of his head in a dashing fashion and said merrily, "Now, Jones, how about we settle this nicely, without your superfluous beating of my best friend." His eyes gleamed wickedly, their deep brown depths unreadable yet alight.

"Why not?" The other Captain laughed manically. "_She_ _**took**_ the box, _she_ hid it, _she_ lied to you _and_ me!" Jones emphasised nearly every word of that sentence, each one meant like a blow or a punch or a kick to Jack.

"Nigh," I denied quietly. "_You_ lie, old man!"

And so the argument continued, and all the while, Jack stood there quietly, turning his head to and fro as he watched each come back become more wild and outrageous than the last. He sighed quietly, rolled his eyes and snuck around us, popping up in between and from one infuriated face to the other.

"I got an idea!" he declared loudly, puffing himself up to his full height, glancing at me before looking back at his foe and continuing, "Why don't we go get this 'box' that you so dearly seem to desire…. and Rian shall deliver it to ye herself!"

Jones' face closed off as he sunk into deep thought about the possibilities of Jack's motion.

I sidled around Jack to look him in the eye, saying silently 'What are you doing?'. Jack only replied by enlarging his eyes. 'Leave it to me' it meant, 'leave it to me'.

Not a good situation, I'm terribly in debt to Jack already, bloody pirate!

"But," Jack said suddenly, startling Davy from his thoughts, "we're only bringing this 'box' back _if_ you bring the _Black Pearl_ back first."

"No," Jones replied. "I want the box back first!"

"Second."

"First."

"Last."

They could have gone on if the _Dutchman's _captain hadn't replied steadily.

"First…" Davy Jones roared "…and final. Else I keep you here against your will for one hundred years… if not more," he added snidely. Jack immediately receded and ceased all concept of argument. Smart move.

A moment's hesitation and he came out with this: "How're we supposed to get your bloody box without a ship…. _and_ with no notion as to where it lays?"

"That's not my problem."

"Yes it is!"

"'Tis not!"

"Is too."

_Here we go again._

"Not."

"Too."

"Not."

"Too."

"Not."

"Too."

"Not."

"Too."

Looking from one to the other, I sighed and rolled my eyes, crossing my arms on my chest and settled myself for a long wait. _They're such _babies, I thought savagely.

The argument swung back and forth for approximately five minutes before I lost my patience. I put two fingers in my mouth and blew an ear-splitting whistle. Both men ceased all manner of speech immediately and looked, shocked, at me, their jaws mere inches from the ground.

I said sweetly, "Isn't there a nice way to argue…" My tone changed and I continued, all aspect of good-nature gone, "or a mature way?" Grabbing Jack by the ear, I hauled him out of the room without a second glance at the now seething captain behind us.

Upon entrance to the brig, the crew silenced and turned their bloodied faces towards me and Jack, his ear still in my hand. I heard someone stifle a snigger, turning it hastily into an unbelievable cough. I must admit, seeing someone with Captain Jack Sparrow by the ear would have been a spectacle. Also too, was Jack taller than me, hence he had stooped in order to keep his ear firmly attached to his head.

I felt his hands gingerly pry my grasp apart and lost grip of the man standing beside me as he chuckled lightly. I stepped forward spread my hands out in a wide gesture, announcing grandly, "Gentlemen, we are free to go." A huge cheer left the _Pearl's_ crew's lips.

Uproar and pandemonium reigned for a grand total of sixty seconds before Jack roared for order. He bore me away from the others and looked at me quizzically. I realised that he was benignly angry with me for proclaiming his line for him, as though I'd stolen his character in a play. Trifled, I slapped him playfully on the shoulder.

"What?" I asked, clueless.

Jack said nothing until "You know you stole my line."

"Oh," I replied. "Who cares? No, no. What's more important is how we're to get off this ship and find another one."

"We've already got another one," Jack replied smarmily, swagger returning to him in leaps and bounds.

"What, the _Black Pearl_? As if," I scoffed, walking in a loose circle around Jack and coming to a stop in front of him. "Laddy-ma-boy, I don't know if you haven't noticed, but it's at the bottom of the ocean." However, that statement didn't seem to overcome Jack's apparent excitement.

"No, no, no, no," he said. "We can just find Norrington or some other red coat who's stupid enough to pick up a longboat's worth of pirates… Maybe even Becket. Not that he's got the guts to take to sea after last time." He laughed grandly and I was tempted to join in but something stopped me.

"Uh… Jack? How're we supposed to find this 'box'?"

"Ah, that's up to you," he replied serenely.

"ME?!" I said, astounded. "Why me?"

"Well, you _did_, allegedly, hide it," the man replied with a hearty grin fixed to his face.

Outwardly, I was completely shocked. "Not you too," I replied glumly. Inwardly, though, I was in tumultuous disorder, my senses knocked in disarray.

"Cheer up, luv," Jack said, kindness lacing his words like icing on a cake. "You're forgetting my Tia Dalma-unique compass, right here." He tapped the shiny black box hanging from one his belts knowingly.

"You don't want the music box, do you?"

"Nope. I want the _Pearl_," he replied matter-of-factly.

"Oh." I looked down.

"But I'll just have to twist my wants and needs, like I did Elizabeth's." Jack entwined his fingers in front of his stomach as a lady might and smiled at his ingeniousness.

Chin up, I sighed in realisation. "Oh," I said again, my tone saying something different this time, dragging the sound out. "Right, well, where's this so-called longboat?"

* * *

**You have no **_**idea**_** how long that chapter took to write. I'm not even sure if it passes my writer's requirements. I'm terribly sorry that it took so long to get up here (again). On another train of thoguht, you could almost finish there, right? Well, anyways, tell me what you think. Please review, it helps me update faster (in **_**most**_** circumstances). So please please please review. Begging here Love you all! xx**


	7. Commandeer the Stowaway

**Disclaimer: I hope thee who want to sue me can read French: ****Je ne possède pas des Pirates des Caraïbes! If not… well, it's not **_**that**_** hard to understand.**

**A/N: See, I was right! If you've seen the final instalment of the **_**P**_** trilogy, you'd know what I mean when I say that I **_**knew**_** that music box was worth more than DMC let on. Who's good, who's good? – victory dance –**

**Commandeer the Stowaway**

The floating motions from bobbing with the swollen waves brought me around peacefully and slowly. We were three rough, wooden long boats rafted together and floating in the middle of the ocean once more. Yet this time, it was voluntary. Nothing is worse than being stuck on the _Flying Dutchman_ with the devil breathing down your neck, a whip cracking at your back and the ship's own personal storm cloud that permanently follows it around raining heavy sheets of water every second of every day. Having escaped this fate and now floating meaninglessly on the bright aquamarine blue water of the Caribbean was a relief to every head on the bumpy boats around me.

I looked bemusedly around myself, having the feeling that one gets upon first rising, the feeling that everything is A-ok, but then remembering the task ahead: We had to find Jones's music box… without a single lead as to where it lay, and no way to get there.

Contradiction is one of the world's most utterly unforgivable subjects, for there on the horizon, a single ship's sails billowed with the rustling sea breeze, their off-white colour barely visible from the palest blue sky back-dropping it.

I glanced around me in search of a sign of movement, indication of a woken or waking man. Being that it was extremely early in the morning – the sun just touching that pale horizon – and we'd been floating on our little boats for about a day and a half now, most of the men lay at the bottom of the boats, coats draped over their heads and bodies for both warmth at night and protection from the sun during daytime.

Movement caught my eyes as a cloth-shrouded figure's head popped up from behind the farthest boat's side. The familiar tricorn hat became visible as the head's owner swished the coat away. The head of black, bead-drowned dreadlocks followed and then the face and upper body, as Jack raised himself from the corse wooden planks. He was not looking at me though, he'd spotted the ship and it was almost as if a new light shone upon him.

Jack stood quickly, rocking the boat and disturbing his slumbering portion of crew, but no matter. He was jumping up and down, waving wildly at the ship, for three full minutes before stopping abruptly. He turned around slowly and looked at me. I immediately understood the meaning behind his glance.

* * *

The _HMS Discovery_ passed by the starboard side of the three adjoined longboats. The Captain called the command, the anchor was lowered and he looked down at the group of sick sleeping men and sole, bruised, battered and bloodied woman. The captain felt nothing but pity and it showed in his eyes as he surveyed us. 

He turned to look at Jack, who was especially ugly yet the only man aboard the boat who looked regal enough to command the others. "What hast befouled thou?"

"What?" Jack replied, faking bland unintelligence.

"I mean," the portly captain began again, his voice growing in volume. "Where's your ship?"

A look of pain flashed across Jack's face for less than a heartbeat but he stowed whatever misconceptions lay. "Sunk!" Jack replied jubilantly.

"My condolences."

Some of the men had begun to stir. Gibbs' head appeared above the side of his boat and was quickly followed by his upper body. "Cap'n?" he said, looking at Jack. Jack made a swishing motion with his finger under his neck then jerked his head in the direction of the ship alongside us. "Oh," Gibbs sighed in realisation. Up came the canteen and he took a hearty swig. I was amazed that the liquor lasted so long.

Meanwhile, two of _Discovery_'s crew stood either side of the ship's Captain. They looked to be the Captain's First and Second Officers, judging by their attire. The three men quickly exchanged conversation in hushed whispers facing away from us across the port side and out to open sea before the Captain turned back to Jack.

"My men say there are enough bunks below to house you and your crew. Gather your belongings and board quietly." He was about to turn away again, when something occurred to him. "Oh, and Mister…"

"Smith," Jack supplied quickly.

"Right. Mister Smith," he paused again, contemplating the curiosities of Jack's alias, "a word in my quarters, if you please. Lieutenant Sanay – he gestured at the man on his right – will show you the way." Once again, another thought occurred to him and he added curtly, "Bring your mistress too."

He left.

I looked at Jack, whose expression matched mine: both of us were about to spit nails at his kingliness.

The slow procession onto the _Discovery_ reminded me somewhat of boarding the _Flying Dutchman_. It took ten minutes to get us and all our belongings onto the trader ship. The crew assembled bumbling on the deck. Once again I had a flash back to our boarding of Davy Jones's ghost ship.

The other officer, ­­­ Lieutenant Gregory, gathered the assembled pirate crew and showed them to the galley, where a copious amount of stew had begun preparation.

The Captain's Cabin was located to the rear of the ship, comprising of the space beneath the wheel. First Officer Lieutenant Sanay accompanied Jack and me to the Captain's Cabin. He rapped on the door smartly and after the small, quick bark of approval from the still-to-be-named Captain, let us in.

Sanay closed the door quietly and arranged himself in front of it, barring exit and preventing any entrance.

I looked from the Lieutenant to Jack, back again, and then at the Captain, who was standing behind a rather neat desk. Some maps were arranged in exact positions, the ink well and quill stood precisely at a corner of the desk, some wax securing it from further motion.

The room had one window, stretching across and entire – rather small – wall, the glass frosted and could not be penetrated by the human eye. Candles littered the room, throwing flickering light in some areas, leaving others in shrouded darkness. You'd never had known it was midmorning.

A bookcase stood adjacent to the desk, the coloured spines ranged from old to new, large to small and expensive to economical, covering a range of topics, all in relation to the economy, sailing and the sea. Overall an impressive collection yet I found myself comparing it to that of Jack's which was not as refined but, of course, there were extensive texts on pirating.

On the other wall, a four-poster bed stood; scarlet velvet hangings of expensive orientation draped across it, shielding the presumably white sheets and matching scarlet blankets from view. Evidently, the Captain lived well-off at sea.

Jack caught my eye and we both suppressed snickers at the wealthy Captain's taste.

A small, polite cough sounded and we turned to face our captain-host.

"Strange to come across a longboat so far out in open water, let alone three," he remarked dryly. I did not miss the unasked question behind it.

"Oh, it was just a turn of Fate," Jack replied, equally as dry.

"Mmm…" There was a pause; the captain seemed to be wanting something.

"Do you have a name… captain?" Jack cut in. A look of pain flashed across his face as he bit out the last word.

"Yes, of course. Starling, Captain Rupert Starling." It was a mark of how bad the situation was that I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at such a typically English name.

"Right, well, Captain Starling, with all due respect – Jack performed a small, almost mocking bow – why do ye need my mistress? What's she to you?"

I kicked Jack in the leg. Protocol stopped him from looking at me but I could swear I saw the corners of his mouth quirk.

Starling failed to see our silent, somewhat violent transition. "Oh, well, I find it interesting that you have a woman amongst all you rough-and-tumble men. One would think that it's not a woman's place on a ship. And there's the point about women being bad luck on board a vessel of the sea."

Shame on him! He stabbed me in the back thrice and while I was there. Damn him. Damn him to hell.

"Begging your pardon, Captain," I said, playing the timid housemaid and curtsying elegantly – a feat for one wearing breaches, "but isn't the sea a lady herself?"

Jack didn't seemed to be taking it too well either. His face held no clue as to what he was truly thinking – such a godforsaken hard man to read – but his gorgeous brown eyes had turned stormy, tumultuous, angry.

"Ah, but that's lady enough for all the ships in the world," the Captain replied, unaware of what was coming to him.

"Well, if your ship has been thrown into disorder because of my presence, I shall take my leave of your cabin and this ugly company." I smiled briefly at Jack to show I didn't include him. "I will not be insulted to my face as though I was an ugly statue!"

I know I couldn't let Jack fight my battles for me, but I thought that it was the right time to leave. I stormed out of the dingy room with my dignity still intact and the precious knowledge that the captain would be the much-needed outlet for Jack's anger. Technically, I was fighting Starling. Setting your best friend, who just happens to be 'Captain' Jack Sparrow, on an unsuspecting victim, is sufficiently roguish in my opinion. Just think of it as using Jack as the potential weapon for my comeuppance.

Surprisingly enough, Sanay didn't try to stop me. In fact, he'd disappeared quite well. What's Starling got him in here to do, be a stuffed statue? As far as I've seen, both the ship's officers are completely useless pretty boys.

As I strode the deck, I took inventory of all our weapons, counted the crew that the _Discovery_ had working for it. The plan Jack and I had discussed worked to a minimally-sized crew's advantage. Jack would settle the Captain and his First Officer in a moment, and I quickly scanned the deck for my target.

Second Officer Lieutenant Gregory was at the wheel. Although he wasn't steering, he was standing there hounding out orders to the rest of his little minions. He was burly man of average height with dark hair and eyes. He didn't scare me. Nearly no-one did.

I walked purposefully up to him, taking the stairs one at a time like any normal person, all the while schooling my expressions into that of a poor, mistreated, captured woman on board a ship of men with the manners of pirates – not that they weren't, but he didn't need to know that. I spoke to him in quick, breathy words, trying to appear both sexually pleasing and tortured at the same time.

It was all nonsense; stroking his arm, leaving lingering touches here and there, trailing fingers across his broad shoulders. Wearing men's clothes didn't help matters. A white, loose, linen shirt isn't the best way to display either cleavage or curves, although it did wonders to hide the expensive yet simply designed dagger tucked into the back of my belt.

I basically explained to the Lieutenant that he was needed below deck for some unexpected reason, and made an idealised excuse as to why I wanted to accompany him. All in all, I think he looked rather excited at the prospect of being virtually alone in the company of a reasonably attractive woman. Oh dear God don't let Jack ever find out exactly how I got the man to follow me, my insides would find themselves outside in no time.

When we burst through the door to Gregory's cabin, I gave a breathy giggle and looked distractedly around the room. The Lieutenant must have been hungry for his patience had dwindled to nothing.

He slammed me against the wall before I could see what colour the curtains on his four-poster were. His mouth was hard on mine, his tongue trying to break through the barriers of my closed lips. I slid one hand onto his semi-grinding hip and he placed one on the back of my neck, pulling my head closer to deepen the kiss, and the other went towards my back. I guided my alternative hand to his roaming one, entwining our fingers and raising them.

_Damn!_ I thought._ So close._

I knew that if he hadn't had his hands roam so much, he'd be dead quicker than this. Now both my hands were full and I was stuck in a clinch with a really… not so bad kisser.

I let go of his hand and placed my own on his arm, pulling away from his kiss.

He looked surprised as he opened his eyes. He was panting a little and his eyes were bright and shiny.

_Oh, what the heck,_ I thought, as my mouth descended on his. I gave for a moment, regretting for the first time that I would still have to kill this man.

I wrapped my arm around his back, pulling him closer to me, and he put his arm around my shoulders, the other hand tangled in my hair.

Good, both his hands are full in a distinctly not-southern area.

I reached around and felt the black leather of the hilt at the small of my back. Cold blood runs freer than warm.

He never saw it coming. The steal slid into his stomach, parting the sinews as if the body were its sheath, like it belonged there.

I felt the life leave his body like wind whistling through the leaves of tree on an autumn day. It was sad, yes, but it was necessary. A lot of people kill because they like it. I am both one of these people, and not, because I know and remember every soul I ever took. How could I forget?

I heaved the body over to the bed, I cussed and muttered "Bloody heavy body," regret fringing my words like lacy snow, forgetful and fluttery, inevitably going to melt.

"Now, I never liked you," I told the inanimate, not-breathing body. "Don't let it get to that I was only using you."

If he'd replied, saying, "I was using you, too," I would have fainted. Fortunately, he didn't.

The cold steal handle felt good under my hot hands. I turned it quietly; praying it wouldn't squeal with rust, and pushed the door open with awareness fit the fifteenth sense. Thankfully the hall was empty, and a conveniently placed piece of dark cloth lay over some barrels.

Making my way out of there, a strange feeling washed over me. I suddenly had the inkling that I was most definitely not alone. In fact, as I drew nearer to the group of barrel, I heard _breathing_.

I wiped my dagger quickly and methodically and left the _breathing_ thing to do what is apparently does best – which is either nothing, or, technically, breathing.

I took the stairs two at a time, thinking to myself _Well, I'll send Jack down there later. Him or Gibbs. Between the two of them, they can settle a "_breathing **thing**_" in no time._

On deck there was uproar. It wasn't full blown pandemonium as there was some sort of order on the pirate side, but the lonesome crew were battling the oncoming pirates with anything they could get their hands on, rope, buckets, mops, brushes. Some brandishes daggers, a few even hefted a cutlass, although not as many as I'd have hoped. A nice bout would have finished my day right well.

Since Jack was on deck hollering orders to his part of the crew, I assumed that Starling and Sanay were dead. I descended into the fray in full pirate regalia, yelling insults and charging at the first enemy I saw.

The fight ended quickly. We dumped the living men into the longboats we had so recently left and hauled the bodies of the dead overboard. The whole place stank like the Examples piers harbours favoured so dearly. Blood was spattered everywhere and men from the _Pearl_ were already scrubbing hurriedly at the stained planks and the bases of the masts.

It was only a quick scuffle, not many died and the men in longboats weren't complaining as we lowered them to the frothy sea. A distant island hovered on the horizon, the wispy clouds hazed across it, pulling it to and from view. I was position at the helm, standing in front of the wheel and overlooking all of it.

The sun was setting; casting the sky into pinks and oranges and, in some areas, a deep crimson arced across the skyline, looking very much like the blood. I felt a presence at my back and turned, expecting to find Gibbs or Cotton at the wheel. We hadn't pulled anchor yet so the fact that there was a presence there confused me.

I hid my confusion as I looked on at a not-smiling Jack. His brow was furrowed and slight concern edged his beautiful eyes.

"The sky's bleedin'," he muttered, the first word lost amongst the rest.

"Mm." I sighed and glanced back at the crimson arc. _Not a good sign_.

We both stood there for a few moments, staring at the sky as if expecting some ill fate to strike us down. Surely killing a total of five people couldn't be _that_ sinful. We _were_ pirates after all. Five dead men who were incredibly useless in life can't be too bad. You'd think we were doing the world a favour, ridding it of idiots like them.

I almost convinced myself. Almost.

"Oh, Jack," I began, remembering the 'breathing thing' once more. "There's a 'breathing thing' below deck. Near a bunch of barrels."

Jack smiled snidely and replied slowly, as if he was making sure he got the words right, "A 'breathing _thing_'?" emphasising my lack of scientific language.

"Shut it," I snapped. "If I don't know what it's called, I may as well call it what I know it for, which _is_ breathing. Come on." I grabbed his hand and pulled him down the stairs.

"Mister Gibbs," Jack called. The grey-haired man looked up from sewing a split in some canvas. "Accompany us below, if you'd be so kind."

Gibbs leapt to attention, bounding across the deck in strides that a man of his age shouldn't be capable of.

When he opened his mouth to ask why we were going there, Jack simply cut in, "Apparently, there's a 'breathing thing' near a group of barrels." He looked at me superiorly.

I simply rolled my eyes and pinched him on the arm. Jack winced and extended the other in the fashion on would use to escort brides down the aisle. I obliged and placed my own arm atop his.

"Lead on," he said, gesturing ahead with the other – wounded – arm.

I rolled my eyes and ushered the men into the bowels of the ship. Surprisingly, both men were silent, but I saw the look on Gibbs' face when he realised whose cabin was across the way from us. His eyebrows arched high on his forehead, full of knowing superiority and I hurriedly shook my head, glancing at Jack.

"Over there," I mouthed at them, pointing at the barrels. Sure enough, the gentle, steady breathing could be heard amongst the swishing of water around the walls of the hull and the yells of Pintel at Ragetti above us.

We crept towards the barrels, each of us aware that _anything_ could happen. Jack was in the lead. He bent his head towards the first barrel, listening. He shook his head ever so slightly and moved to the next barrel. The procession continued and Gibbs and I exchanged worried glances.

Upon the forth or fifth barrel, Jack's reaction changed. He drew his dagger from a concealed sheath on his body and stabbed the lid of the barrel. A loud "bang" sounded and muffled gasp erupted from the barrel. Gibbs and I walked towards the barrel with baited breath as Jack drew away the lid.

A sort of whimpering noise ascended from the crouched girl in the barrel. She had black-brown hair and dark brown eyes that were welling up with tears fast. A dirty rag was the best description for what she was wearing.

The look on Gibbs' and my faces was of pure shock, but that was nothing compared to Jack's. His face had hollowed, drained of emotion as he extended an arm towards the girl and a shaky pale hand took his. She stood with his help and he launched her out of the barrel only to shove her gruffly into Gibbs's hold.

As Jack stalked across the room in almost angry thought, the girl sort of wilted in Gibbs arms. He was muttering assurances to her in his friendly voice but it was like her hearing had shut down. Tears flowed openly down her faces, running down lines that seemed to have already been gouged into her skin.

I was completely nonplussed as to what I should do. I grabbed a barrel and pushed it onto its side. Sitting heavily on the rough wood, I sank my head into my hands in thought.

Jack returned quietly, his emotions in order and only a slight bit of disquiet mixed with a rare appearance of anger could be seen in his eyes, the rest of his face was blank.

"Andrea," he began awkwardly. She nodded. "What are you doing here?"

She shrugged stiffly and I would have snorted, had the situation not been completely devoid of mirth.

"Take her to the Captain's Cabin," Jack told Gibbs. "See to it that she has warm clothes and food, too." Gibbs hurried to obey and Jack copied me, lounging on a barrel.

"Rian…"

I looked at Jack expectantly. A moment later he took a double-take. It was like he'd forgotten he'd ever spoken.

"Uh, tell Mister Cotton to set a course for Port Royal, Will's daughter is on board our ship."

"Aye Captain, as you will." I bid him farewell and hurried off to find Cotton.

_We're going to Port Royal_, I thought as I hurried along the hallway._ We're going to Port Royal!_

* * *

**A/N: Yeah, there's a fair bit of story to go, and Jack's going to have to wait even longer to get his precious **_**Pearl**_** back from the depths of Davy Jones's Locker. Poor him – sniff. Eh, oh well, I've got worse planned for the both of them. Why do **_**you**_** think that Jack's reaction to Andrea is so… un-Jackish?**

**Well, I've also decided that this story is still set Post-AWE except now it **_**has**_** to be in another universe where Jones and a few other characters don't die. Okay? Okay.**

**Reviews, thanks to RumQueen,** **SilviaX, ****Jacqueline-Marie-Sparrow**, **Giver of Roses and a few other for** **reviewing constantly and there's going to be a chapter dedication next time. Don't forget to review!**

**Oh, and by the way, was I the only one having to trouble determining whether the kid at the end of AWE was male or female?**

**Damn, I had something else to say... oh well, you guys should note that:  
1. the rating is now changing from whatever it was to M or T.  
2. This chapter could change in the next week or two because my other editor is currently away.  
3. I'm completely losing it, is Rian still Rian or is she changing?**

**Review please, and there will be TimTams to all who do! Not exactly sure how that's going to work but oh well, you will get something... like a chapter dedication or whatever else I think of.**

**Oh yeah, how's that romance scene for someone completely inexperienced?**

**BYE**


	8. Port Royal

**Disclaimer: Imagination equals Terry and Ted, the ones who wrote about our much-loved cast of the Pirates of the Caribbean trilogy. Since I have none (imagination) I therefore, do not own their characters, nor am I trying to get rich off them. The only times **_**my**_** imagination counts are when I write about Rian – my much-loved pirate heroine.**

**Port Royal**

Jack obviously thought that I would be the best company for Andrea, seeing as he's stuck me in with her. Oh, and coincidently, we're now sharing that aforementioned four-poster bed previously owned by, of all men, Lieutenant Gregory.

One day, I will kill Jack Sparrow. You can be sure about that one. But then I'd just have to bring him back because I'd actually miss him, unlike _some_ people. I know, shocking revelation. But he _is_, after all, _my_ **best** friend.

So, the first night aboard the _HMS Discovery_ was complete hell. She just wouldn't stop crying. It was like having a foghorn that sniffs. I ended up sleeping on the forecastle amidst a bunch of barrels with about thirty rugs tossed over various parts of me. I didn't have to worry about getting cold, wet, or spied on – yes, in that order – because, hey, we're in the Caribbean for God's sake, and it was a pretty smooth night, no water spouts popping out from nowhere which Jack took as a very positive blessing, and finally, as if any of the crew were dumb enough to watch me sleep; Jack would have them thrown off at see and I slept in my clothes anyway.

The only reason I ended up migrating back to _my_ cabin is because Pintel fainted on top of me from too much rum consumption. I yanked the bottle out of his semi-frozen hands and took a hearty slug. The brown, sweat liquid sloshed around my mouth and I swallowed it gratefully.

A flicker of inspiration sparked in my mind and I reached from the blankets beneath the unconscious Pintel. I vaguely wondered where Ragetti had gotten to as I flicked the materials from beneath their sleeping companion and swaggered to my cabin, the warm blankets in my left hand dragging behind me and the rum bottle in my right.

I kicked the door open and let the slick, brown wood slam against the wall beside it. I was dumping the blankets on my bed when I heard the whimpering.

"For Chrissake!" I groaned. "Get up."

The whimpering ceased before regaining its full volume again.

"Get up!"

Once more, there was momentary silence that stretched a grand total of forty seconds before the familiar sound filled the air, gusto still in full strum.

There was no light in the room. Well, no _lit_ light. I stumbled around the room in search for the desk.

_I know it's here somewhere…_

I was partly drunk so my motions weren't exactly fluid.

_Ah, a chair,_ I thought, allowing minor amounts of excitement to escape me. _Where there's a chair there's a-_

My bottle slammed down as I fumbled blindly for matches.

Light born, I shied away from the burning brightly beacon.

The desk was ornate mahogany with red felt across the top to protect the expensive wood. There were two draws on the right hand side, against the wall.

I grabbed two crystal glasses from the second draw and placed them on the desk. I poured the rum into the first glass then took a swig straight from the bottle. The whimpering was still there, still as loud, still just as annoying as ever.

"Look," I began roughly, "it's so painstakingly obvious that you're awake so either sit up or shut up."

Silence reigned over all and the black-brown mop of hair rose from the bed, head, shoulders and body following.

"Oh, it was one or other. Not both," I said, realising my mistake. I didn't want to talk to her. I didn't want to get attached because once we went to Port Royal, she was staying there.

"Then why did you get out two glasses?"

It was the first words I'd ever heard her say. The most, too. Amazing.

I pondered some pointless topic for a few moments before I realised she was still staring at me expectantly, her brown eyes turned towards me with more than mere polite interest.

"U-uh… I like to pretend I have company."

"How about when you actually _do_ have company?"

Andrea frowned. Neither of us had heard him come in, but the chair on the other side of me was now filled with the presence of none other than our captain.

"Jack," I laughed awkwardly. "Get out; we were having a little chat."

"No you weren't."

"Yes we were."

"You weren't."

"Was too."

"Was not."

"Was t-"

"This is incredibly pointless. Shut up, Jack." Andrea was now sitting cross-legged with a cluster of pillows behind her back.

I stared in shock at Andrea, feeling that Jack was doing a pretty good impression of my staring in shock.

"How come you're talking now?" I asked stupidly.

"Uhmm…" she pretended to looked stumped at the simplicity of the question. "Because I have a voice. I also have an opinion." She paused for effect. "I like to voice my opinion… and other things."

"Clever girl," Jack said, bowing his head ceremoniously, his fingertips touching together in vague contemplation. I _think _he was being sarcastic, not so sure though.

"Okay then." Hastily, I reached for another glass and tipped some of the caramel-coloured liquid into it, drops flying momentarily. I got up and walked around the bed. "Here you go," I said, gruffly, shoving the glass into Andrea's semi-startled hands.

"What is it?"

"Rum!" Jack answered merrily before taking a swig from his own glass.

"Oh." She raised the glass to her lips and sipped delicately. It was a moment before her whole face shone green and she pushed the glass onto the table beside the bed.

Jack rose to his feet, swaggered around the bed and snatched the abandoned glass.

"If you don't want it then," he began, offended, but didn't continue.

A short bark from Gibbs, "Cap'n!" split the air.

Jack shoved the glass into my grip and I sculled it all before dashing after him. Andrea sat there, stunned, before slapping the sheets and assuming sleeping position again.

Above deck, I followed Jack to where Gibbs was standing at the wheel.

"What?" I asked.

Gibbs didn't say anything, merely pointing at a spot on the horizon.

I squinted blearily at the speck and started as I felt someone unhooking my spyglass from where it hung from the belt across my hip.

Jack popped out of nowhere, the glass almost surgically attached to his eye.

I snatched it out of his grip and brought it up to my own eye.

"Port Royal," said Gibbs.

"Really? I had no idea," I replied sarcastically, shutting the spyglass with a snap and slinging it back on my hip.

Jack glared at me, his arms crossed and rum bottle dangling from one hand precariously.

I snatched the bottle from his grip too and trooped off down the ship to begin the climb up to the nest, vaguely registering Gibbs' tickling laughter or the huffy attitude of Jack as he disappeared below again.

Once in the nest, I sat there drinking rum and entertaining fantasies of Port Royal.

_Hang on. We're pirates. The red coats live in Port Royal. How are we supposed to get there without getting hung?_

I pondered this hindrance for a moment, and came to the conclusion that Jack wouldn't just stroll up to port and through the town, looking for the governor's daughter and her blacksmith husband.

How very wrong I was.

---

"_This_ was your ingenious plan?!" I yelled at Jack, front-handing and back-handing him across each cheek before punching him in the nose. Fortunately, it's somehow rock hard and manages to cause my hand more damage than my hand does it.

I was standing in the middle of his cabin, green satin dress with a puffy skirt and corset-required bodice. Lace wound around my arms and a jewel dangled below my collarbone. My hair was tucked into a blonde wig and my face had been dusted with a white powder to disguise my tanned skin. The sleeves of the dress stopped short of my elbows and my pirate 'P' would be in clear view to the whole world without the thick gold bangle, encrusted with matching jewels and wrapped tightly around my wrist.

"The most I can carry is a miniature dagger thrust into the hem of this Godforsaken skirt!" I screamed. "Do want me to die that much, your best friend?"

Jack's face was white beneath the tan, fear actually in his eyes.

"Luv," he began, voice shaken a tiny bit. "Look, all you have to do is walk up to their front door, knock, and present them with Andrea."

"Oh, and I have to wear a _dress_ to do that?"

"Well, yes," Jack said, moving back into his swing fast. "The Red Coats are only looking for a tanned brunet what wears man clothes and has a pirate 'P' from the EITC branded into her arm, not a pale blonde in an expensive dress." He finished, crossing his arms and smirking smugly.

"What's Andrea wearing?" I asked in a small, whiny voice, crossing my own arms and huffing at the prospect of public appearances wearing a _dress_, of all things. If he doesn't get shot by someone like Beckett, _I'll_ do it.

"This horrid pink thing." I wish he'd said that, but actually, all he said was "A white shirt and a pair of brown trousers. Same old, same old."

I slapped Jack again and stalked out of the cabin, thoroughly upset and sure that the redness of my cheeks showed right through the powder, which was awfully itchy. No wonder I never wear this sort of thing, it's more of an inconvenient hindrance then an alluring beautification method.

Up on the forecastle, I sat with the wind whipping through the fake blonde hair and tugging at the skirt's hem. I watched the preparations to dock hassle the many sailors. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the two black-haired beauties, one male and one female, emerge from below deck. I tried not to think about how Andrea and I had seemingly swapped tastes in attire and I tried to ignore the ongoing compression of my rib cage and the all the pain that entailed.

A gentle bump upon impact and I stood up, unwillingly walking over to the two.

"Let's get this over with," I said gruffly, grabbing Andrea's upper arm and tugging her down the gang plank.

I pushed her in front of me and as we descended, I looked back, catching Jack's eye, and drew a finger across my neck, glaring angrily at the evil man. He might as well swap with Davy Jones, at least then he could be evil and nobody but the crew would suffer. But in reality, I remembered his story about the struggle between choosing Will's life over the prospect of immortality.

Strolling through the streets of a completely alien place, wearing a dress when you don't normally wear one, watching regal women in finer outfits than what I wore, and commanding men trussed up in black, brown and white finery. It was all very awkward, not to mention the columns and columns of red coats trotting from place to place.

"Why did you run away in the first place?" I asked Andrea.

She looked away, biting her lip as she did so. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Sure you don't. Because then it would lead to some big secret and in the end I'll end up searching for leverage or begging for my life. Or at least there'd be a part where I'd finally get to meet your mother and father because Jack wouldn't stow it about them for a good two years." I continued walking, oblivious to the fascinated stare I was getting from Andrea until she took a left and I got lost.

"Yep, great. Just great."

"RIAN!" Andrea called from the corner were we got separated.

"Stow it! Before anyone who knows any better looks," I shrieked, ducking to the shadows and hurrying back to her.

She slapped a hand across her mouth and gulped hugely. I sighed, exasperated.

For a while, we walked in silence, and the crunch of wheels on the dirt roads and clop of horses' hooves was the only thing disturbing the still air. There was yelling in the distance, presumably from the markets.

A thought occurred to me and I turned to look at Andrea again.

"Did Jack give you a gun?" I asked her.

"Yes, actually. Why?" she asked, startled yet suspicious. Her hand drifted to her hip where a gun-shaped lump was hidden by her vest.

"Give it to me." I launched myself at her but she danced out of my reach.

"Uh-uh-uh!" she said tauntingly.

"What kind of sixteen-year-old are you? A gun," I muttered furiously.

"Jack said."

"Said what?" I looked up.

"Said not to give you the gun or you'll go and stuff everything up."

"More like put the bullet in his head," I muttered. "So what? You believe him? HIM?"

"Well he's not exactly acting deranged on account of the fact that you forced him into a dress."

"Oh, on with ye!" I yelled angrily.

"We're here," she said, which made me look up, which made my jaw drop.

"Twenty-six years of hording swag and it never amounted to this," I whispered as I stared at the wrought iron gates barring entrance to the huge white mansion set atop the hill. Three storeys with a balcony on the second and a view of the Fort and the sweeping ocean as far as the eye could see.

"I really hate you right now," I told Andrea.

She grinned. "Oh, you want to but you can't."

"And we're getting in…how?" I asked, still staring.

Andrea beckoned me closer before taking my hand and leading me around the side of the honey brick fence where a little gate with a large, rust-coloured padlock on it. She pulled out the gun and was just about to shoot the lock if I hadn't grabbed it from her hand.

"There are smarter, _quieter_ ways of getting inside," I hissed in her ear, free arm coming up under her arm to cover her mouth in a vice grip. She struggled for a moment before giving in.

"_A-ha!" _I thought as I pocketed the pistol in my dress's sash.

I pulled her into the little woods behind me so if she screamed, no one would hear her. Letting go of her mouth, I pulled her wrists behind her back and tied them there with my necklace. She opened her mouth to scream, but I covered it with my hand again, ripping some material from my dress to silence her once more.

I know it seems like I've turned on her, but really, she's a bit of a bother, armed and cocky. It's far easier to break into someone's home with a hostage than a granddaughter of the governor of Port Royal.

With Andrea walking in front of me, we returned to the fence and carried on walking away from the main entrance. When we were halfway around the side of the house, I turned to the fence, where a hole disappeared beneath the brick.

"Stay there," I told Andrea, turning my back on her and walking towards the hole. "Come through backwards like me and I'll help you on the other side."

I disappeared into the hole and came out in an old wooden shed. "Okay, you can come through now."

There was a scrabbling sound before a pair of feet enclosed in dark boots appeared. I threw my hands forward and helped her through, but, because it was me or her I don't know, she hit her head anyway.

Her black eyebrows pushed together and she frowned furiously, which set me off on a round of half-swallowed giggles.

Andrea glared angrily and tried to frown more but it was no use, she still looked hilarious.

"Come on," I said, flipping my hands in the direction of the door. "Let's get you home."

We emerged somewhere behind the mansion and I got a magnificent view of its behind, which was all architecture bliss and not so mesmerising as before because I was over the initial shock.

I picked up a handful of pebbles from the garden running along the house's exterior and rattled them in my hands.

"What room would your parents be in now?" I asked Andrea.

Andrea's eyes widened amazingly in confusion. She tried and failed to point due to her wrists bound behind her back, and mumbled something incoherent into her gag which turned from civil information to frustrated curses.

I walked over to her, slipped the thin knife from its concealed hiding place in my skirt's hem, and cut the ties around her mouth before undoing the makeshift necklace-cuffs behind her knack.

"Up there," she said after I'd finished, pointing at a window on the second floor. "What'd you do that for?" she asked, annoyed. She rubbed her wrists delicately.

Ignoring her, I pegged the first of my filched pebbles at the window. A sharp snap split the air like a gunshot or a cracking whip. There was silence, and then a woman's face appeared in the glass, her expression shocked. She had light brown hair, brown eyes and hooded brows on pale skin.

A moment later, a man with black, shoulder-length hair and sparkling dark eyes joined her. He stared at me, until his gaze settled on Andrea, at which point, two pink spots appeared on his checks.

"I think he's angry," I mumbled through my teeth.

"No really?" Andrea spat cuttingly. "Morning Mother!" she yelled. Her expression turned sour. "Father," she greeted cordially, her eyes showing an array of emotions.

Andrea's parents disappeared from the window.

"Well they like you a lot, don't they?" I asked brightly.

Andrea glared haughtily.

"Don't say anything then. See if I care."

Elizabeth and Will came racing around the corner at break-neck speeds. As soon as she reached her, Elizabeth was all over Andrea, coddling her and asking her if she was okay. Will held back, his expression clouded.

"I don't recognise you," he said to me after a moment of close inspection on his part. "Have we met?"

I pulled the wig from my head and rubbed my other hand across my cheek to show the skin beneath the powder. "I'm a friend of Jack's," I replied.

"Jack's?" he asked, pretending not to know who I was talking about.

"Jack Sparrow," I said, deliberately skipping over his title.

"Captain!" his wife corrected, straightening up.

"_Captain_ Jack Sparrow," Will finished.

"I know who he is. I've known him nearly his whole life!" I snapped.

"He never mentioned you," Elizabeth pointed out. "And what does he have to do with Andrea?"

I ignored the jibe at my apparent non-existence. "Andrea was on the ship we most recently invested in. Hiding in a _barrel_. Jack said we had to bring her back to you so here I am."

"I believe thanks are in order," Will said, his expression still carefully blank.

He offered his hand for me to shake. I took it reluctantly. He wrenched my arm around to reveal the inside of my wrist, and pushed up the heavy golden bangle. My pirate 'P' slide into view, a red mark on the pale inside of my forearm.

"Cutler Beckett? Or someone else we don't know?" he asked, mild interest sneaking across his face.

"Beckett. I'm so glad you finished him off. He was a nasty piece of work," I replied saccharine-sweetly.

"Yes, he was," Elizabeth agreed. "Will, stop troubling her. What's your name?"

"Rian Harping. Jack's told me all about you though. I know you're Elizabeth Turner and you're Will."

The corner of Elizabeth's mouth twitched and I think she was going to smirk but at the last second, she turned to Andrea. "Go inside, darling."

"By Rian." Andrea took a step forwards and hesitated before throwing her arms around my shoulders and hugging me. "Thanks," she said before running towards the entrance.

"Well I'll be going now," I said, backing away.

"Not so fast."

At first I thought it had been Will speaking, but as I turned, I knew it definitely wasn't.

A man in an official-looking jacket with a white wig and a black hat complete with a white feather stood twenty metres behind Will and Elizabeth. His thin lips were sneering and there was a growing amount of soldiers gathering at his back.

-------------------------------------------------

The drum whipped through the air, each beat commanding and threatening. The boards creaked beneath my feet. A stench of sweat issued from the large man in black standing just a few feet away from me. I looked up at the rope above my head.

"It was your idea of actually making port with a stolen ship. You didn't think they'd recognise half a dozen pirates when they saw them?" I hissed at Jack.

"Relax. At least _they _didn't get caught."

"I can't believe I got arrested for bringing back the governor's daughter," I spat at the ground.

"I got arrested for saving her mother from drowning, if it makes things a bit more in perspective."

"You're different. I haven't stolen half the things you have."

"Luv, I steal lots of little things. When you steal, you always think big. Should you ever get engaged that ring'd outweigh you, the diamond'd be so big."

I jerked my eyebrow in understanding and looked at my feet like they were going to stop me from dying.

"How come you didn't tell me Will was governor now? Or that he got someone to replace him on the _Dutchman_ _without_ killing him?"

"Time and tide, luv."

"Stow it!" The executioner's voice rolled across the courtyard of the Fort.

I looked at the heavens and thought drearily, _Am I really going to get out of this now?_

* * *

**A/N: I'm back. I'm not dead. And I'm evil. Hope you liked it.**

**Love,**

**Dancer**


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